The touch of the Master’s Hand

For the past two days I have been home sick. Today, when I got out of bed at 8 pm to try and sit up for a little bit and eat some dinner I read a poem that deeply touched me three years ago. Why I thought of this poem today I don’t know. But wanted to share it with you because it radiates beauty and truth.

This poem is exceedingly close to my heart. I first heard it after I lost someone to an addiction. For two years after I found out about his addiction I blamed myself. Thinking, surely if I was more beautiful this never would have happened. I caused this addiction were thoughts that plagued me.

When I first heard the poem, I wept. For two years I had lived in chains that were beginning to suffocate me. I prayed, Father, You see beauty in me, why couldn’t I see it too? Show me, I would ask Him. I thought of all the ways in which this person’s addiction had effected me and I realized I was severely bound. Little by little through God’s grace He started to loosen those chains and opened my eyes to see that is wasn’t my fault. He sees beauty and dignity in you and I. Allow yourself and others to see it too.

Here is the poem: 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 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 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 the 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, 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 is wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.

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