"Twas battered and scarred, 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 the loose 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, “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!” said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand
What changed its worth.” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of a master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred 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, 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."
This poem was shared at a session of our Stake Conference this weekend. It spoke volumes to me. I have seen with my own eyes the difference that can be made in a person with the touch of The Master's hand. I know how much those souls are worth.....how precious they are to me.....and how grateful I am that the world gets to hear the pure and sweet melody that they have to share.
If you would like to read an article by President Boyd K. Packer that this poem is shared in, you can click here.
3 comments:
Priceless words!!!
I stole this... hope you don't mind
The title of this poem is "The Touch of the Master's Hands," it's one of my mom's favorites and has been hanging above her piano as long as I can remember.
Thanks for sharing, it's a great one.
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