The touch of the master's hand

It was battered and scarred and the Auctioneer

Thought it scarcely worth his while

To waste his time on the old violin,

But – he held it up with a smile.

Now who’ll start the bidding, folks, he cried

What will you give to me now?

What will you bid for this old violin

As he held it up with the bow

A dollar, one dollar, who’ll make it two?

Two dollars and who’ll make three?

Three dollars once, three dollars twice,

And going and gone, said he. But no!

From the back of the room, a gray-haired man

Came forward and picked up the bow.

He wiped the dust from the old violin,

Then he tightened the strings,

And he played a melody pure and sweet,

As pure as an angel sings.

The music ceased and the Auctioneer,

In a voice that was quiet and low,

Said, what will you give for this old violin?

What will you bid for it now?

One thousand dollars, 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 someone of them asked,

We can’t understand,

What changed its worth? And he replied

The touch of the Master’s hand.

Many a man with his life out of tune,

Battered and scarred by sin,

Is auctioned cheap by 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, going twice

He’s going – and almost gone. But!

The Master comes; and the thoughtless crowd

Never can understand

The worth of a soul or the change that’s wrought

By the touch of the Master’s hand.

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