Heritage Baptist Church Titusville Florida -Poem

"Touch of the Master’s Hand,"

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

by
Myra Welsh

“Is any thing too hard for the LORD?”
- Gen.18:14

     Sarah laughed at the message from God that she would have a baby at her age. The angelic messengers asked her, “Is any thing too hard for the LORD?”
      Jeremiah was in prison and had been foretelling the captivity of his people into Babylon. A piece of land was for sale and God told him to go and redeem it. Jeremiah then prays to the Lord and speaks of His greatness and how nothing is too hard for Him. And yet, at the end of his prayer, he asks the Lord indirectly if He was sure about buying this land when the Chaldeans would be taking it all for themselves.
God replies in Jere.32:27, “Behold, I am the LORD, the God of all flesh: is there any thing too hard for me?” He goes on to assure Jeremiah that His people will once again return to and inhabit the land.
      How often do we need God to ask us this question: “Is any thing too hard for the LORD?” We have all probably been there numerous times. We look at difficult situations and wonder if even God can take care of them. We look at the future of our country and the future of our Bible believing churches and cast doubts if it will ever be like it used to be. How often have we been like Sarah and laughed at what God said would take place? How often haven’t we kind of questioned God, even if indirectly, as Jeremiah did?
      The older one gets the more they become interested in history, not only of the world and of others, but their own. Look back where God brought the impossible to pass. Go back and remember where the Lord won against incredible odds. God’s past faithfulness gives us strength to face the tomorrows. And we know therefore, that nothing is too hard for the Lord?

“So amid the conflict, whether great or small, do not be discouraged, God is over all… Count your many blessings, See what God hath done…”

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

by
Myra Welsh

Missionary of the Month

Joaquin & Paqui Lopez

Spain

Sowing Seeds of Truth

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

by Myra Welsh

Missionary of the Month

Joaquin & Paqui Lopez

Spain

Sowing Seeds of Truth

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

by
Myra Welsh