The Touch Of the Master's Hand
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 he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bidden, good folk?” 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?
“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 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, “Now 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,” cried he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not understand.
“What changed its worth?” Quick 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 a 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’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s Hand.
(By Myra Brooks Welch)
The Master’s hand is the only hand that can transform the soul.
This very moment the Lord Jesus Christ is waiting to turn your darkness into day, your sorrow into joy.
Hear His call: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; thought your sins be as scarlet,
they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool..”
(Isaiah 1:18)
Have more wonderful words ever been spoken? God wants to cleanse your life from sin and
give you a new life of hope and joy. He does not ask you to change your life yourself.
He asks you to come to Him just as you are. His word promises:
“The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.” (1 John 1:7)
But first you must trust totally upon God’s mercy.
You cannot depend on your “good works” to gain entrance into Heaven.
For before God we are all sinners. “There is none righteous, no not one…For all have sinned,
and come short of the glory of God.”
Romans 3:10, 23).
There is only one way, one door through which we can enter the Kingdom of Heaven
Jesus said, “I am the door; by Me if any man enter in, he shall be saved.” (John 10:9)
Jesus made the way for you and me by dying on the cross for our sins: “He was bruised fo
our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him;
and with His stripes we are healed.”
(Isaiah 53:5)
You can receive the risen,
victorious Lord Jesus Christ by faith now.
Come to Him now, do not delay!
(Taken from the tract by Good News Publishers)
The Old Brown Violin
“So are ye in mine hand.” (Jeremiah 18:6)
Ole Bull, the world’s most noted violinist, was ever wandering about.
One day he became lost in the interminable forests.
In the dark of the night he stumbled against a log hut, the home of a hermit-
The old man took him in fed and warmed him;
after the supper they sat in front of a blazing fireplace,
and the old hermit picked some crude tunes on his screechy, battered violin.
Ole Bull said to the hermit, “Do you think I could play on that?’ “I don’t think so;
it took me years to learn,” the old hermit replied. Ole bull said, “Let me try it.”
He took the old marred violin and drew the bow across the strings, and suddenly
the hermit’s hut was filled with music divine; and, according to the story,
the hermit sobbed like a child.
We are battered instruments;
life’s strings have been snapped;
life’s bow has been bent.
Yet, if we will only let Him take us and touch us, from this old battered, broken,
shattered, marred instrument, He will bring forth music fit for the angels.
I never knew the old, brown violin,
That was so long in some dark corner thrust,
It’s strings broken or loose, its pegs run down,
Could ever be of use again. The dust
Of years lay on its shabby case, until
One day a Master took the instrument,
And with caressing fingers touched the wood,
Adjusted pegs and strings; his mind intent
On making music as he drew his bow.
Then from the violin, long silent, sprang
Once more arpeggios, runs, trills. The wood
Quivered, leapt into life, and joyous sang.
I now believe that any broken life,
Jangling with discords, unadjusted, tossed
In some far corner, wasted, thrown aside,
Can yet be of some use; need not be lost
From Heaven’s orchestra. A Master’s Hand
Scarred with old wounds, can mend the broken thing
If yielded to Him wholly; and can make
The dumb life speak again, and joyous sing
In praise of One who gave His life that none
Never perish. And this message, glad, most blest,
I now believe; for placing in His hand
My life, I find my world is now at rest.
(~Dorothy M. Barter--Snow)
The Man In the Glass
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day.
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn’t your father or mother or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass.
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.
You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum
And think you’re a wonderful guy.
But the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.
He’s the fellow to please—never mind all the rest,
For he’s with you clear to the end.
And you’ve passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend.
You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass.
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.
--Anonymous
Accepted
‘Tis not for works which I have wrought,
‘Tis not for gifts which I have bought,
Nor yet for blessings that I sought,
That I have been “Accepted.”
‘Tis not for tears that I have shed,
‘Tis not for prayers that I have said,
Nor yet for slavish fear or dread,
That I have been “Accepted.”
‘Tis not for these, however right,
That God has formed intense delight,
Nor is it these that have made white
The robes of those “Accepted.”
From these I turn my eyes to Him,
Who bore the judgment due to sin,
And by Christ’s blood I enter in,
And share in his Acceptance.
His precious Blood was shed for me,
And in that precious Blood I see,
The righteous ground, the perfect plea,
For my complete Acceptance.
And as I gaze my joys abound,
For now on resurrection ground
I see the Lamb with glory crowned
Who died for my Acceptance.
And when within that circle sweet,
Were God’s eternal smile I meet,
I’ll praise Him for the work complete,
Through which I am “Accepted.”
No One Ever Cared For Me Like Jesus
I would like to tell you what I think of Jesus
Since I found in Him a friend so strong and true;
I would tell you how He changed my life completely—
He did something that no other one could do.
All my life was full of sin when Jesus found me;
All my heart was full of misery and woe;
Jesus placed His loving arms around me,
And He led me in the way I ought to go.
Chorus:
No one ever cared for me like Jesus.
There’s no other friend so kind as He;
No one else could take the sin and darkness from me—
Oh, how much He cared for me.
