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 woman 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 she travels on. She is 'going' once, and 'going' twice, She'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.