Twas
battered and scarred , and the auctioneer thought it scarcely worth his
while To waste much time on the old violin , But 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 , 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  far back of the room, a grey-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 a carolling 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 ; 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 a master's
hand"

And many a
man with life out of tune , And battered and scarred with sin , Is
auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd , Much like the old violin .

A mess of
potage a glass of wine ; A game - - and he travels on . He is going once
, and going twice , He is 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 .