JPF
2005-01-21 21:03:13 UTC
Touch of the Master's Hand
It was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer,
Thought it scarcely worth the while,
To waste much time on the old violin.
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid for this old violin?
Who will start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, 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 back of the room a gray haired man,
Came forward and took up the bow.
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightened up all the strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angels sing.
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," he said.
The people cheered, but some of them said,
"We do not quite understand,
What changed it's worth?" Came the reply,
"The touch of the master's hand."
And many a man with his life out of tune,
And battered and scarred 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 shuffles along;
He's going once, and he's going twice,
He's going and almost gone.
But the Master comes, and the thoughtless crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of the soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's hand.
It was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer,
Thought it scarcely worth the while,
To waste much time on the old violin.
But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid for this old violin?
Who will start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar, 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 back of the room a gray haired man,
Came forward and took up the bow.
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightened up all the strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As sweet as the angels sing.
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," he said.
The people cheered, but some of them said,
"We do not quite understand,
What changed it's worth?" Came the reply,
"The touch of the master's hand."
And many a man with his life out of tune,
And battered and scarred 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 shuffles along;
He's going once, and he's going twice,
He's going and almost gone.
But the Master comes, and the thoughtless crowd,
Never can quite understand,
The worth of the soul, and the change that is wrought,
By the touch of the Master's hand.