The poodle began to whine. Just then a gentleman who was standing behind him, having watched him, stepped close up to the old man, asking for the loan of his old fiddle for a little while. Striking the strings and adjusting them, he soon brought the old thing to somewhat normal condition; then he began to draw from it such sweet chords that the people passing by were arrested, and seeing the old veteran with the poodle holding the hat, began to appreciate the situation, and so the hat was filled more than twice.
But the old man did not heed the money flowing into the hat; the fiddle, his dear fiddle, was a miracle to him. How could that stranger draw such exquisite strains from that old fiddle of his? Ah! it was a master that had gotten hold of it—a master violinist, one of the greatest of musicians; that was the secret. Kindhearted as he was, he appeared so suddenly, and then, when his wish was accomplished, he vanished as suddenly among the bushes, after laying the old but beloved fiddle into the veteran’s lap.
Then a gentleman who had witnessed this touching scene told the large audience who this violinist was. He passed the hat around, and this time it was filled to the brim, so that the old veteran had enough with that he already had received to last him to the end of his days. Hugging his fiddle and stroking the poodle, he went home to his attic room, with more than one bone for his little pet.
Beloved, are not our hearts like that old fiddle? How little there is for the Lord! Are you making melody in your hearts to Him?
Beloved, unless the Chief Singer vibrates our heart strings, there will be nothing for Him, and He is so worthy, and longs for it, even from our poor hearts. Are we able? Yes, indeed. Our hearts purified by faith, indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and He, our beloved Lord, leading the singing, we are well able to praise Him, even in the midnight, singing songs unto the Chief Musician.
The Young Christian (adapted)
O Lord, we know it matters not
How sweet the song may be;
No heart but by the Spirit taught
Makes melody to Thee.
Then teach Thy gathered saints, O Lord
To worship in Thy fear;
And let Thy grace mold every word
That meets Thy holy ear.
O largely give, ‘tis all Thine own,
The Spirit’s goodly fruit,
Praise issuing forth in life, alone
Our loving Lord can suit.
Mary Bowley