- The Touch Of The
Master's Hand
- Written by -- Myra B.
Welch
- ******
- 'Twas battered and scarred, and the
auctioneer
- Thought it scarcely worth his
while
- To waste much time on the old
violin,
- But held it up with a
smile.
- "What am I bidden, good folks" he
cried,
- "Who'll start the bidding for
me?"
- "A dollar, a dollar", then, two! Only
two?
- "Two dollars, and who'll make it
three?
- "Three dollars, once; three dollars,
twice;
- Going for three ..." But
no,
- >From the room, far back, a
grey-haired man
- Came forward and picked up the
bow;
- Then, wiping the dust from the old
violin,
- And tightening the loose
strings,
- He played a melody pure and
sweet
- As a caroling angel
sings.
- The music ceased, and the
auctioneer,
- With a voice that was quiet and
low,
|
- Said: "What am I bid for the old
violin?"
- And he held it up with the
bow.
- "A thousand dollars, and who'll make it
two?
- Two thousand! And who'll make it
three
- Three thousand, once; three thousand,
twice;
- And going and gone," said
he.
- The people cheered, but some of them
cried,
- "We do not quite
understand
- What changed its worth?" Swift came the
reply:
- "The touch of a Master's
hand."
- And many a man with life out of
tune,
- And battered and scarred with
sin,
- Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless
crowd,
- Much like the old violin.
- A "mess of potage" a glass of
wine;
- A game-and he travels on.
- He is "going" once, and "going"
twice,
- He's "going" and almost
"gone."
- But the Master comes and the foolish
crowd
- Never can quite
understand
- The worth of a soul and the change
that's wrought
- By the touch of the Master's
hand.
|
