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" The Touch of the Master's Hand "

"Twas battered, scarred, and auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth the while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.

"What am I bidden, good people," 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 three?" But no!

From the room far back a gray-bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up 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 bow.

A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand, and who'll make three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice;
And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We don't quite understand
What changed its worth?"
Swiftly came the reply,
"The touch of a 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 is going once, and going twice;
He is 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.

by: Myra Brooks Welch

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