The Touch of The Master's Hand

                                                  Violin - Vuillaume  photo by Frinck51


'Twas battered and scarred, and the Auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin
As he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid for this old violin?
Who'll start the bidding?" he cried.
"A dollar! - who'll make it two?
Two dollars - who'll make it three?
Three dollars, once, three dollars twice,
And going and gone", said he.
But no!
From the room far back came a grey haired man.
He wiped the dust from the old violin
And tightened up all the strings.
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As sweet as an angel sings.
The music ceased and the Auctioneer
In a voice soft and low
Said, "What am I bid for the old violin?"
As he held it up with the bow.
"A thousand dollars! - who'll make it two?
Two thousand! - who'll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice
And going gone!" said he.
The people cheered but some of them cried,
"We do not understand!  What changed its worth?"
Swift came the reply,
"Twas the touch of the Master's Hand"
And there's many a man
With his life out of tune,
Who's battered and torn with sin
And 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, he's going twice,
He's going and he's almost gone.
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Cannot quite understand
The worth of a soul
Or the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master's hand.


I've had this piece of paper in my scrap-book for some years.  The poem is not attributed to anyone but is obviously of American origin.  If you can enlighten me please do so.

Thanks to Ashley I can now attribute the poem, which was written in 1921, to Myra Brooks Welch  (1877-1959)  of La Verne, California, USA.