| | The Touch
It was 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 biddin' good folks," He cried. "Who'll start the biddin' for me ? 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 carolling angel's wings.
There's many a man with life out of tune, who's battered and scarred, and is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd, much like the old violin. A mess of potage, 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's wrought by the touch of the Master's Hand. |
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