The Touch Of The Master's Hand

I found this and thought of my grandfather and how he made me learn this poem in teaching me the strings of life. I hope it will empower you and give you courage in your life. ~~~

Twas battered and scared, 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 bidding for me? A dollar, a dollar - now who"ll make it 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 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 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 its worth?" The man replied: "The touch of the masters 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'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. ~ Myra B. Welch

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"The Master's Hand" was written by Myra Brooks Welch, called "The poet with the singing soul." She came from a very musical family and she loved playing the organ as a young girl. In 1921, she heard a speaker address a group of students and became filled with light. The "Touch of the Master's Hand wrote itself in 30 minutes!"

She sent it anonymously to her church news bulletin as she felt it was a gift from God, and didn't need her name on it. It's popularity spread like magic. Finally, several years later, the poem was read at a religious international convention - "author unknown." A young man stood up and said, "I know the author, and it's time the world did too. It was written by my mother, Myra Welch."

It was then her name, as well her other beautiful works of poetry became known worldwide. All of her poetry told of the rejoicing she had in God's love.

What the world did not see, was the woman who created these masterpieces was in her wheelchair, battered and scarred from severe arthritis, which had taken away her ability to make music. Instead, her musical soul spoke through her poetry.

She took one pencil in each of her badly deformed hands. Using the eraser end, she would slowly type the words, the joy of them outweighing the pain of her efforts. Her words, a joyous expression of the wonders of life, by a singing soul that was touched by the Master's Hand.

As a friend turned to leave her home, Myra patted the arm of her wheelchair and said, "And I thank God for this!" Imagine being grateful for a wheelchair! But her talent lay undiscovered prior to her wheelchair days. Rather than becoming bitter, she chose to let her handicap make her better, and a wonderful new door opened for her.