An Old Instrument

Many years ago, while some people were looking over a very old castle, they discovered a room which, apparently, had not been used for very many years. While they were looking round this room, they found under a big heap of rubbish and dust, a very curious-looking and strange musical instrument. It was fearfully dirty, and the strings and the working parts were very rusty.

The instrument was taken down to the large hall of the castle and cleaned. Musicians were then invited to come and try the instrument, but it was such a complicated piece of mechanism that nobody was able to produce any good music from it. Many tried, but the best of them could only get harsh and screeching sounds. One day a very old man came to the castle, and the instrument was shown to him. He looked at it eagerly, and then said: "I know this instrument—I made it." He tuned the strings, adjusted different parts, and presently the walls of the castle re-echoed with strains of beautiful music, and all who listened were enchanted.

Have you noticed that there seems to be no music coming from the lives of some boys and girls—little that is pleasant and inviting?

It is perhaps hard to be always unselfish and always to be really truthful, but we know that it is very wrong to be untruthful and selfish. We know that there is no music in our hearts when we do that which is sinful—our instrument is not working well, our life is out of tune, and only produces harsh, unkind, and unlovely sounds. When we let our Maker, the Great Musician, come, and we give Him our lives—our instruments (He made them)—and we let Him use them as He wishes, then something happens. He tunes the strings and adjusts the "works" of our lives, so that from them will proceed the sublime music of a Christ-like life. Music that will mean "Joy in the presence of the angels of God in Heaven," and give joy to those on earth with whom we come in contact—for many are helped by the music of a life given to the Great Master Musician Himself.

Lord Tennyson, in referring to another poet, Swinburne, used these words: "He was a tube through which everything blew to music." May that be true of all the boys and girls of our Sunday School.