The Makers Hand
‘Twas battered, scarred and looked warn out
The auctioneers thoughts of worth was in doubt
The crowd gave the old violin one glance with a crooked smile
To stop and give it a chance wasn’t worth their while
“Waste of time this old thing” someone shouts from the crowd
While they were pointing and laughing with pleasure out loud
Then from the room, far back, a brown bearded Man
Came forward and picked up the old violin, holding it in His hand
Wiping the dust and tightening up the stings
He started playing a melody as pure as the angels sings
He closed His eyes, with pleasure His ears received the sound
Thinking a better violin He never could have found
The audience broke out in clapping, leading into cheers
And some even cried, wiping away a few tears
Saying: “What changed its worth, we don’t understand”
“It’s simple” He replied. “It only needs the touch of its Makers Hands”
You see, I can perfectly remember the day I created this masterpiece
And I also know the day its last note will play and its music finally will cease
Many a man, all battered and bruised by sin
Auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd like this old violin
But the Maker always passes by, on the lookout for His lost creation
That needs dusting, tightening of strings, with a touch of love and appreciation
Just like the blind man, hearing his Makers footsteps at the side of the road
Jesus already knew everything about him and his unbearable load
With loving hands, he gently felt Jesus touch his face
“Oh when was the last time someone held him like this, in a warm embrace”
“I know you need Me, I have heard your crying plea
There there, I am here now, I have come to set you free”
And that brings us to the fact, that we will never be able to quite understand
The change that is wrought, by the touch of the Makers Hand
‘Twas battered, scarred and looked warn out
The auctioneers thoughts of worth was in doubt
The crowd gave the old violin one glance with a crooked smile
To stop and give it a chance wasn’t worth their while
“Waste of time this old thing” someone shouts from the crowd
While they were pointing and laughing with pleasure out loud
Then from the room, far back, a brown bearded Man
Came forward and picked up the old violin, holding it in His hand
Wiping the dust and tightening up the stings
He started playing a melody as pure as the angels sings
He closed His eyes, with pleasure His ears received the sound
Thinking a better violin He never could have found
The audience broke out in clapping, leading into cheers
And some even cried, wiping away a few tears
Saying: “What changed its worth, we don’t understand”
“It’s simple” He replied. “It only needs the touch of its Makers Hands”
You see, I can perfectly remember the day I created this masterpiece
And I also know the day its last note will play and its music finally will cease
Many a man, all battered and bruised by sin
Auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd like this old violin
But the Maker always passes by, on the lookout for His lost creation
That needs dusting, tightening of strings, with a touch of love and appreciation
Just like the blind man, hearing his Makers footsteps at the side of the road
Jesus already knew everything about him and his unbearable load
With loving hands, he gently felt Jesus touch his face
“Oh when was the last time someone held him like this, in a warm embrace”
“I know you need Me, I have heard your crying plea
There there, I am here now, I have come to set you free”
And that brings us to the fact, that we will never be able to quite understand
The change that is wrought, by the touch of the Makers Hand
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