Twas battered and scarred, and the old auctioneer
The music ceased and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said, "What am I bidden for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand...And who'll make it two?"
"Two thousand...who'll make it three?"
"Three thousand, once.... Three thousand, twice...
And going...going...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 the masters hand!"
Many a man with life out of tune,
Battered and scarred by the sun...
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
A game...and he travels on.
He is "Going, once...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."
by Myra Brooks Welch