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 he held it up with a smile.

What am I bidden, good folks, he cried
Who will start 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 gray 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 sweet as a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low
Said What am I bidden 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 and some of them cried
We do not 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 scattered with sin
Is auctioned cheap to the 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.