It was 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 pound, a pound”, then “Two!” “Only two?”
-“Two pounds, and who’ll make it three?”
“Three pounds once; three pounds 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 off 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 pounds 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 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 by sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the 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.
Poem written by Myra Brooks Welch – whose own story is inspirational too!
Myra written by Myra Brooks Welch