THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S
HAND
By Myra Brooks Welch
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Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought it scarcely worth his while to waste much time on the old violin,
but he 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-now, 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 up all of the strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet-
as sweet as an 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 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 said, "We do not understand--what changed it's worth?" The man replied: "THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND!"
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
a game--and they travel on, they're going
once, and going twice, they're 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!