The Touch of the Master's Hand
by Myra Brooks Welch

          'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
          Thought is 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 - one dollar - two, only two -
          Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
          Going for three" - but no -
          From the room far back, a grayhaired man
          Came forward and picked up the bow;
          Then wiping the dust from the old violin
          And tightening the loosened 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, "Now 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,"
          cried he;
          The people cheered, but some of them cried,
          "We do not quite understand;
          What changed it's worth?" Quick came the reply,
          "The touch of the master's hand."

          And many a man with a life out of tune,
          And battered and scarred 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 fooling crowd
          Never can quite understand
          The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought
          By the touch of the Master's hand.

I love this poem!

                                     MusicLover