Twas battered and scared,

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'll start bidding for me?

A dollar, a dollar - now who'll make it 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 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 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, but some of them cried,

"We do not quite understand -

What changed its worth?"

The man replied:

"The touch of the masters 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.