"The Touch of the Masters Hand" Author: Myra B. Welch

It was 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?"
"One give me one dollar, who'll give me two?
Only two dollars, who'll make it three?
Three dollars twice, well that's a good price, now who's got a bid for me?"

But no...

From the room, far back, a gray-haired man came forward and picked up the bow.
He wiped the dust off the old violin, and tightened the loose strings,
he played a melody pure and sweet, as an angel sings.

The music ceased.

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.

"One give me one thousand, who'll give me two?
Only two thousand who'll give me three?
Three thousand twice, well, that's a good price, and going and gone!" said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand what changed its worth?"

"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.

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