'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 its 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 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's wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
© Myra 'Brooks' Welch
Myra Brooks Welch, a resident of La Verne, California,
was called "The poet with the singing soul." Hers was
a very musical family. As a young woman, Myra's
special love was playing the organ.
In 1921, she heard a speaker address a group of students.
She said she became filled with light, and "Touch of the
Master's Hand" wrote itself in 30 minutes! She sent it
anonymously to her church news bulletin. 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."
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: Myra 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 disabled 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, as seen by a
singing soul that was touched by the Master's Hand.
My sincere thanks to Lilly Walters
for permission to use Myra's bio on my site.
Click on Lilly's name to visit her most informative and inspirational site!
Marilyn's Hideaway ~
Cancer Site ~
Domestic Violence ~
Good Old Days ~
Norma Marek's Poetry
Music performed by Sally Rogers from Pilgrim Jim's.
Made with love August 14, 2006