The Master's Hand

Then, wiping the dust from the old violin and tightening up the strings,

he played a melody, pure and sweet, as sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer, with a voice that was quiet and low, said,

"What now am I bid for this old violin?" as he held it up with the bow.

"One thousand? One thousand, do I hear two? Two thousand. Who'll make it three?

Three thousand once, three thousand twice, going and gone!" said he.

The audience cheered, but some of them cried, "We just don't understand.

What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply, "The touch of the master's hand."

And many a man, with life out of tune, all battered with bourbon and gin,

Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd, much like that 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 a soul and the change that is wrought by the Touch of the Master's Hand.