'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste such time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good folks?" he cried.
"Who'll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar ~ now 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 up all the strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.

The music ceased, and 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.

"A thousand dollars ~ and who'll make it two?
Two thousand ~ and who'll make it three?
Three thousand once and 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?" The man replied:
"The touch of the master's hand!"

And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and torn with sin,
Is 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, 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.