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The Touch of the Master's Hand

By: Myra Brooks Welch

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 biddin, good folks? he cried Who'll star teh 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 grey-haired man Came forward and picked up the bow.
Then, wiping the dust from the old violin, And tightened up all the strings,
He played a melody pure ans 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 held it up with the bow.

A Thousand dollars - and who'll make it two? Two thousand dollars - and who'll make it three.
Three thousand once, three thousand twicw - And going, and gone, said he.
The people cheered, but some of them said, We do not understand-
What changed its worth? The Man replied "THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND"

And many a person 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 they travel on,
They're going once, and going twice, they're going - and almost gone.

But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd Never quite understand,
The worth of a soul, and the change that's wrought by THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND.