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The Touch of the Master's Hand


'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer thought it 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 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 grey-haired 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 "What am I bidden 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 it's worth?" Swift came the reply, "The touch of the Master's Hand." 

And many a soul with a life out-of-tune, battered and scarred within, is auctioned cheap to the 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 it the Touch of the Master's Hand.

                                                                                                                                                                               Myra Brooks Welch

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