It was battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought it was scarcely worth his while,
To waste much time with the old violin, so he held it up with a smile.
“What am I bid, good people” said he, “who’ll start the bidding for me?
A guinea, a guinea, now two, only two, two guineas and who’ll make it three?
Three guineas once, three guineas twice but from the room far back, a grey haired man came forward while stooping low,
He looked at the man on the auctioneer’s stand and bowed as he picked up the bow.
The man wiped the dust from the old violin, then tightening up its strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet, as a laughing angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer, in a voice that was quite low:
“What am I bid for the old violin?” and he held it up with its bow.
“A thousand guineas and who’ll make it two, that’s two and who’ll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice, and going and gone,” said he.
Then the people stared and demanded to speak: “We still do not quite understand,
3,000 guineas is too much to pay, for the touch of a master’s hand.”
It’s the same for a man with his life out of tune, who’s battered and torn with sin,
He’s 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, he’s going twice, he’s going and almost gone.
But the master comes and the foolish crowd, can never quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought, By The Touch Of The Master’s Hand.
With many peaceful blessings