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‘Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer Thought it scarcely worth his while To waste much time on the old violin, But he held it up with a smile. "What am I bidden, good folks," he cried, "Who will start bidding for me? A dollar, a dollar" – then, "Two!" "Only two? Two dollars, and who’ll make it three? 
"What am I bidden, good folks?" he cried,"Who will start 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 gray-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 sweet as a caroling angel sings. 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 dollars, and who’ll make it two?Two 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 the master’s hand." And many a man with life out of tune, And battered and scattered with sin, Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crown, Much like the old violin. A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine; A game – and he travels on. He’s "going" once, and "going" twice, He’s "going" and "almost gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowdNever can quite understand The worth of a soul, and the change that’s wrought By the touch of the Master’s hand. Myra Brooks Welch |
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 House of Kirk
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