The Touch of The Master’s Hand

By Myra Brooks

LISTEN

‘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 folk?” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar – now who’ll make it 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 gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up all the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.

The music ceased and auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: “What am I bidden for the old violin?”
And he held it up with the bow;
“A thousand dollars – who’ll make it two?
Two thousand – who’ll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice
And going – and gone,” said he.

The people cheered, but some of the cried,
“We do not quite understand –
What changed its worth?” The man replied:
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and torn with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on,
He’s 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.