‘Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer
Thought is 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 biding 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 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 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 and three thousand twice –
And going and gone!” said he
The people cheered but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand –
What changed it’s 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…
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.
Myra Brooks Welch
A few of us were helping to go through some old papers stored in a filing cabinet in the church lounge and found a bunch of copies of our church newsletters from the 80’s. I took them home to look through and found this poem and thought it was worthy of repeating. I hope you enjoyed it.
Lisa Beretz, LLBeretz@gmail.com