Twas battered and scared, 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 bidding for me? A dollar, a dollar - now who"ll make it 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 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 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, but some of them cried, "We do not quite understand - What changed its worth?" The man replied: "The touch of the masters 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.