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Journaling is on card tucked behind top photo and reads: "Benjamin, As soon as you saw Aunt Patricia's violin, you wanted to give it a try. Before we knew it, you had gone online and ordered one for yourself. Every time I would see you play it, it would remind me of this poem that your Grandpa used to read aloud to us. In the weeks that followed, you learned that it was going to take a long time to be able to play this instrument. You seem to have laid it aside for the last few months. Knowing how quickly you picked up piano and drums, I know that with practice, you will be able to conquer this skill and hope to be able to hear you play it one day with a master's hand. June 2010"
The page design is based on a PageMaps sketch. The notes were drawn and cut by hand. The violin and bow were cut with the Cricut. The poem the "The Master's Hand" by Myra Brooks Welch. Thanks so much for looking!
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.
Myra Brooks Welch
Thanks for spreading positivity!
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