The Old Violin.
It was battered and scarred, and the auctioneer Thought it was hardly worthwhile To waste much time on the old violin, But he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid" the auctioneer cried, "Who'll start the bidding for me? A dollar, a dollar, and who'll make it two?
Two dollars and who'll make it three?"
And "Going once, and going twice, And going, and going..." but, no
From the room far back an old grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow.
And wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tuning up all the strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet - As sweet as an angel sings.
The melody ceased, and the auctioneer,
In 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, two thousand dollars..
Two thousand, and who'll make it three?
Three thousand once, three thousand twice, And going and gone" said he.
And the people cheered but some of them said "We do not quite understand What changed it's worth" and a man replied
"The touch of a master's hand"
And many a man with a soul 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 he travells on.
He's going once, and going twice, And going and almost gone --
But the Master comes, and the thoughtless crowd Never can quite understand The worth of a soul, and the change that is wrought By the touch of The Master's hand.
~~~~~~~~~ anon. from Liz in Melbourne, Oz, [EMAIL PROTECTED]
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