Poem: The Touch of the Master's Hand

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 bid, good folks?” he cried.
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, then two, only two?
Two dollars and who’ll make it three?

“Three dollars once and three dollars twice,
And going for three, but no!”
From the room far back a gray-haired men
Came forward and picked up the bow.
And wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening the loosened strings
He played a melody pure and sweet,
Sweet as an angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
In a voice that was quiet and low
Said, “What am I bid for the old violin?”
And he held it up 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 don’t quite understand.
What changed its worth? Quick came the reply:
“The touch of the master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune
And battered and scarred with sin
Is auctioned cheap to 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, he’s going twice,
He’s going and almost gone.
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of the soul and the change
That’s wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.