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 a I bidden , good folks , He cried; Wholl start the bidden for me? A dollar, a dollar; then, Two! Only two? Two dollars, and wholl 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 loosened strings, He played a melody pure and sweet As a caroling angel sings. The music ceased, and the auctioneer, With a voice that was quiet and low, Said, Now what am I bid for the old violin? As he held it up with the bow. A thousand dollars, and wholl make it two? Two thousand? And wholl make it three? Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice, And going, and gone! cried he. The people cheered, but some of them cried, We do not understand; what changed its worth? Quick came the reply; The touch of the Masters hand. And many a man with life out of tune, And battered and scarred with sin, 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. Hes going once, and going twice, Hes going and almost gone! But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd Never can quiet understand The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought By the touch of the Masters hand.
Posted on: Tue, 07 Oct 2014 13:09:35 +0000
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