'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 bid, good folks" he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
A dollar - a dollar - now 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 and three thousand twice
And going and gone," said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand -
What changed it's worth?" and the man 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 potage, 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 change that's wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.