It was 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 will start bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, now two, only two?
Three dollars once, three dollars twice…
And going for three…” but no;

For the room far back a gray-haired man
Stepped forward and picked up the bow;
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin.
And tightening the loose strings,
He played them a melody, pure and sweet,
As pure as an angel sings.

The music stopped, and the auctioneer said
In a voice that was quiet and low:
“Now, then, what am I offered for the old violin?”
As he held it up with the bow…

“One thousand dollars, now 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 did not really understand
What changed it’s worth?” - swift came the reply:
“The touch of the master’s hand.”

And many a person with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with Sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the mindless crowd,
Much like the old violin.

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game, and they travel on…
They’re going once, they’re going twice,
They’re going… and almost gone.

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd,
Never will really understand
The worth of a soul, and the change that is brought,
By the touch of the Master’s Hand.

By Myra Ross Welch
1926

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