Luyện nghe bài hát The Master's Hand

Writer Myra Brooks

"Twas and scared, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his
To waste time on the old violin,
But he held it up a smile.
"What am I bidden, folks," he cried,
"Who'll start for me?
A dollar, a - now who"ll make it two _
Two dollars, and who"ll it three?
"Three dollars once, dollars twice,
for three". . . but no!
From the room far a gray-haired man
Came forward and up the bow;
wiping the dust from the old violin,
And up the strings,
He a melody,pure and sweet,
As sweet as an sings.
The music and the auctioneer
a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: "What am I for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the
"A thousand - and who'll make it two?
Two thousand - and who'll it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand
And - and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but of them cried,
"We do not quite -
changed its worth?" The man replied:
"The touch of the hand."
And many a man life out of tune,
And battered and torn sin,
Is cheap to a thoughtless crowd.
like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a of wine,
A game and he on,
He's once, and going twice -
He's - and almost gone!
But the comes, and the foolish crowd,
can quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the that's wrought
By the of the MASTER'S hand.