DRINKING ALCOHOL TAUGHT ME HOW TO FLY
THEN IT TOOK AWAY THE SKY

Monday, July 14, 2008


THE TOUCH--A POEM


You've all heard this before, and now again-

it's best spoken softly and slowly


Tonight I will chair an AA meeting, and while reflecting on a topic, my thoughts turned to a poem which a nun read to my fourth-grade class at St. Dominic School in Delhi near Cincinnati, OH. Then, she called on me to read it--since it was known I played the instrument referenced in the verses. And as I read, the words seemed just that--words...which had no meaning for me whatsoever. When I read it aloud tonight, my eyes will become wet at the first words, not because it's the story of a violin, but because it's the sad, then the glad, story of my LIFE! (And I cry when happy...or sad--who said that?)

Topic is: "THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND"


"Twas battered and scared, 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 folks," he cried,
"Who'll start bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar - now who"ll make it 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 up the strings,
He played a melody,pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I bidden 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?" The man replied:
"The touch of the masters hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and torn 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's 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.
~Myra B. Welch


4 comments:

Laura said...

TO God be the Glory, great things He has done~! I've always loved this poem and I'm sure you'll bless the socks of many tonight. It truly is amazing grace when we take a look back in the rearview...

Hugs!

Lou said...

How you are going to get through that meeting without everybody sobbing is beyond me.
Better stop at Costco or Sam'sClub and get a case of Kleenex.

Mary Christine said...

Have a great meeting tonight.

pat said...

Thanks for sharing the poem. I am glad you now know who I am.