June 1He that hath my commandments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him — John 14:21.
May this intimate communion and fellowship with Christ impart to us each more and more of His own spirit, so that the world may take knowledge of us, that we have "been with Jesus"; and let the prayer of each be, Lord Jesus, make Thyself to me A living, bright reality! More real to faith's vision keen, Than any earthly object seen; More dear, more intimately nigh, Than e'en the sweetest earthly tie. —Z '95, 75 (R 1789). The proof of our loving the Lord is in having and keeping His commands. Such a love for the Lord is reciprocated by the Father and the Son, out of their appreciation of this quality in us. This prompts them to give us added expressions of confidence and love, culminating in our being privileged to have heart fellowship with them, from an understanding and an appreciation of their characters—P '33, 79. Parallel passages: Deut. 30:19, 20; John 14:15-17, 22-24; 1 John 2:5; 4:13; 5:3; Prov. 8:17; 23:26; John 15:10, 14; 16:27; Heb. 12:6; John 8:31, 32. Hymns: 315, 22, 312, 166, 113, 213, 299. Poems of Dawn, 300: The Touch of the Master's Hand. Tower Reading: Z '14, 248 (R 5520). Questions: What have this week's experiences been as to this text? How were they met? What resulted? |
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THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND
'TWAS battered and scarred, 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 bid, good folks?" he cried;
"Who will start bidding for me?
"A dollar, a dollar … now 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 gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up all its 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 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?" The man replied,
"The touch of the Master's 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.
'TWAS battered and scarred, 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 bid, good folks?" he cried;
"Who will start bidding for me?
"A dollar, a dollar … now 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 gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening up all its 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 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?" The man replied,
"The touch of the Master's 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.