The Touch of the Master's 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, -- now only 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 gray-haired man

       Came forward and picked up the bow;

Then wiping the dust from the old violin

       And tightening up all the strings,

He played a melody pure and sweet,

       As sweet as an 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 changes it's worth?"  The man then replied:

       "The touch of the master's hand!"

And many a man with life out of tune,

       And battered and torn with sin,

Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd

       Much like the old violin.

A "mess of pottage", a glass of wine,

       A game --and he travels on.

He's 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.

(by)