
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
 
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| Come to the Savior submissive as a child | 
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Yesterday I heard a missionary quote this poem and it made me think how we are all like this old violin. That we are all imperfect. That we have all been through so much in our lives that have scarred us. The mistakes that we've made have marred us, putting us out of tune, and have caused us to look and sound terrible. But when we realize that we've made these mistakes, its not the end. We can turn ourselves over to the Savior. We can become better. We can be made into who and what the Savior wants and knows we can be. But this is only possible if we are willing to submit to His will and do the things that He has asked and required of us.  Just like the scriptures say, " For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of  Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings  of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint  through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a 
child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to 
submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a 
child doth 
submit to his father." (Mosiah 3:19)
Sure, we can add another title to the Savior, how about the Great Musician? But like a musician who is without an instrument, so to, the Savior can not work on us without our submission. So lets develop that motivation to put our desires in line with God's will for us. Then we will be the most valuable to the Savior, and the best instruments in His hands.