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.