Post by wildfire on Jan 11, 2005 11:06:27 GMT -5
The Touch Of The Master's Hand
T'was battered and scared, 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 gray haired man came forward and picked up the bow;
then wiping the dust from the old violin, and tightening up the loose strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet, as 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! And who will 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 quit understand, "What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand"
And many a man with life out of tune, And battered and scared with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the 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, he's going twice, he's going and almost gone.
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd never can quit understand
the worth of a soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's hand.
By Myra Brooks Welch
T'was battered and scared, 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 gray haired man came forward and picked up the bow;
then wiping the dust from the old violin, and tightening up the loose strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet, as 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! And who will 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 quit understand, "What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the Master's hand"
And many a man with life out of tune, And battered and scared with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the 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, he's going twice, he's going and almost gone.
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd never can quit understand
the worth of a soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's hand.
By Myra Brooks Welch
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(Would ya'll rather I quit posting the poems?)
