Touch of the Master's Hand

Last week we had a Bishopric fireside. We usually try to have all the kids ages 12-18 get together with us and we talk about some of the issues they're currently facing. Our topic was "The Time is Now" and each of us had prepared a short message to address some aspect of the sense of urgency kids feel in today's world.

The only problem with our topic is the time was Later. Only two kids showed up. I guess another Ward in our Stake had a fireside at the same time as ours, and they had - football players. Come on, who'd rather listen to a U of U football player than me! That being said we decided to shorten our messages and ended up watching a favorite short film, "Touch of the Master's Hand." I loved the message contained in this short poem - each of us matters and Christ can heal the most battered soul.


Touch of the Master's Hand

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 gray bearded 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 Masters' Hand.