The story goes - at a religious convention a poem that had gained some notoriety was read. The poem was signed - author unknown.
From the crowd a young man stood and said, I know who wrote that poem and it is about time the world knows the author also; it was written by my mother – Myra Brooks Welsh.
It is said that Myra wrote the poem in 30 minutes in 1921 after hearing an inspiring speaker. She submitted the poem as ‘Author Unknown’. Her conviction was that it was given to her from God and she either did not want or did not need her name on it.
Soon her name and poems became known around the world.
I offer you this poem by Myra Brooks Welsh – I am sure it is not new to you but is worth the reminder of the message it contains. Many have been encouraged by the words – I hope they will encourage you.
"Touch of the Master’s Hand," by Myra Welsh
T’was 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 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 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 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 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.
The scriptures are full of examples of people who were battered and scared; then came Jesus, and he touched them - my own life he also touched, and I am incredibly grateful.