It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
Hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes 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 the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
All battered with bourbon and gin,
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is 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 is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's Hand.
Do you ever feel like a failure? Like you're worthless? Have you made a mess of your life? Our value doesn't come from ourselves, it comes from the Touch of the Master's Hand. His strength is made perfect in our weakness.
Speak, Lord, in the stillness
While I wait on Thee;
Hushed my heart to listen,
In expectancy.
Speak, O blessèd Master,
In this quiet hour,
Let me see Thy face, Lord,
Feel Thy touch of power.
For the words Thou speakest,
Living bread from Heaven,
Now my spirit feed!
All to Thee is yielded,
I am not my own;
Blissful, glad surrender,
I am Thine alone.
Fill me with the knowledge
Of Thy glorious will;
All Thine own good pleasure
In my life fulfill.
Like
Full of fragrance rare,
Ling’ring in Thy presence
Let my life appear.
How often do we take the time to listen? How often do we shut down the computer, turn off the TV, and get away into the stillness, just to listen? Our Lord spoke to Elijah, not through a powerful, loud event, but with a still, small voice. It is so easy to drown out that voice - do we ever stop to listen for it?
While I wait on Thee;
Hushed my heart to listen,
In expectancy.
Speak, O blessèd Master,
In this quiet hour,
Let me see Thy face, Lord,
Feel Thy touch of power.
For the words Thou speakest,
They are lifeindeed;
Living bread from Heaven,
Now my spirit feed!
All to Thee is yielded,
I am not my own;
Blissful, glad surrender,
I am Thine alone.
Fill me with the knowledge
Of Thy glorious will;
All Thine own good pleasure
In my life fulfill.
Like
a watered garden
Full of fragrance rare,
Ling’ring in Thy presence
Let my life appear.
How often do we take the time to listen? How often do we shut down the computer, turn off the TV, and get away into the stillness, just to listen? Our Lord spoke to Elijah, not through a powerful, loud event, but with a still, small voice. It is so easy to drown out that voice - do we ever stop to listen for it?