The Touch of the Master's Hand

'Twas 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

"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 grey haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow.

Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up all of the strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet —
As sweet as the 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, three thousand twice —
Going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them said,
"We do not understand —
What changed its worth?" The man replied
"THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND."

And many a person 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 they travel on.
They're going once, and going twice,
They're going — and almost gone.

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never does quite understand
The worth of a Soul, and the change that's wrought
by THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND.