âTwas 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.
âWhat am I bid, good folk?â he cried.
âWhoâll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar ⌠now two ⌠only two âŚ
Two dollars, and whoâll make it three?
âThree dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for threeâ ⌠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 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, âWhat am I bid for the old violin?â
As he held it up with the bow.
âA thousand dollars ⌠and whoâll make it two?
TwoâŚtwo thousand, and whoâll make it three?
Three thousand once and three thousand twice âŚ
Three thousand and gone!â said he.
The people cheered, but some exclaimed
âWe do not quite understand âŚ
What changed itâs worth?â and the answer came:
â âTwas the touch of the masterâs hand.â
And many a man with soul out of tune
And battered and scarred by sin
Is auctioned cheap by the thoughtless crowd
Just like the old violin.
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 masterâs hand.
O Master! I am the tuneless one
Lay, lay Thy hand on me,
Transform me now, put a song in my heart
Of melody, Lord, to Thee!
by Myra Brooks Welch
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile.
âWhat am I bid, good folk?â he cried.
âWhoâll start the bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar ⌠now two ⌠only two âŚ
Two dollars, and whoâll make it three?
âThree dollars once, three dollars twice,
Going for threeâ ⌠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 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, âWhat am I bid for the old violin?â
As he held it up with the bow.
âA thousand dollars ⌠and whoâll make it two?
TwoâŚtwo thousand, and whoâll make it three?
Three thousand once and three thousand twice âŚ
Three thousand and gone!â said he.
The people cheered, but some exclaimed
âWe do not quite understand âŚ
What changed itâs worth?â and the answer came:
â âTwas the touch of the masterâs hand.â
And many a man with soul out of tune
And battered and scarred by sin
Is auctioned cheap by the thoughtless crowd
Just like the old violin.
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 masterâs hand.
O Master! I am the tuneless one
Lay, lay Thy hand on me,
Transform me now, put a song in my heart
Of melody, Lord, to Thee!
by Myra Brooks Welch
