'Twas
battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought
it scarcely worth his while
To
waste much time on the old violin,
But
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, then, 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 grey-haired man
Came
forward and picked up the bow;
Then,
wiping the dust from the old violin,
And
tightening the loose strings,
He
played a melody pure and sweet
As
a caroling 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; 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?" Swift came the reply:
"The
touch of a 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 potage a glass of wine;
A
game -- and he travels on.
He
is 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.
Myra
B. Welch
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