Atingerea mâinii de maestru

Atingerea mainii de maestru

Maestru Vioara

Strigand si lovind cu ciocanelul de lemn, licitatorul
Se gandi ca nu prea merita efortul
Sa-si piarda timpul cu vechea vioara,
Dar continua s-o tina in brate zambind.
“Ce licitez eu, oameni buni”, striga el,
“Hai, care este primul ?”
“Un dolar, un dolar, apoi doi. Doar doi ?”
“Doi dolari, dar care da trei ?”
“Trei dolari, o data; trei dolari, de doua ori”;
“ Mergem spre trei”… Dar nu,
Din fundul camerei, un barbat cu parul carunt
Veni in fata si lua arcusul,
Apoi, stergand praful de pe vechea vioara,
si intinzandu-i corzile slabite,
Canta o melodie dulce si pura
Asa cum numai ingerii canta.

Melodia se opri, iar licitatorul
Cu o voce inceata si joasa,
Spuse: Cat licitez eu, oameni buni pentru vioara veche
si ridica o mana impreuna cu arcusul.
“O mie de dolari, care da doua ?”
“Doua mii! Care da trei ?”
“Trei mii o data; trei mii de doua ori;
si gata s-a adjudecat”, mai spuse el.
Oamenii se veselira, dar unii au strigat:
“Noi nu prea intelegem”.
“Ce i-a schimbat valoarea?”
Dulce veni si replica:
“Atingerea mainii de maestru”.
si uite asa si omul cu viata dezacordata,
Lovit si impovarat de pacat,
Este scos ieftin la licitatie in fata multimii necugetate,
Precum vioara de care am vorbit.
O „tocanita mizerabila”, un pahar de vin;
Un joc – si el merge mai departe.
Se duce “o data” si de “doua ori”,
Se duce si este aproape dus.
Dar vine Maestrul si multimea cea proasta
N-o sa inteleaga niciodata
Cat face un suflet si ce mult a insemnat
Atingerea divina a Maestrului.

Myra B. Welch

The Touch of the Masters Hand

Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
„What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
„Who’ll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, then, 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 grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet
As a caroling 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?”
Swift came the reply:
„The Touch Of The Master’s Hand.”

And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A ‘mess of potage,’ a glass of wine;
A game – and he travels on.
He is ‘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.

Myra B. Welch

 

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