The Touch of the Master's Hand
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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’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 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 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 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.
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