It was battered and scarred, 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 guiness, a guiness, and who will make it two, two guiness and who will make it three. Guiness one, three guiness 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 tightening the loosened strings, he played a melody pure and sweet as a carolling Angel sings.
The music 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 guiness, and who will make it two? Two thousand, and who will make it three thousand? Three thousand once, three thousand twice, and going and gone” said he.
The crowd cheered, but some of them said “We do not quite understand what changed its worth.” Swift came the reply “A touch of the Master hand”.
And many a man with life out of time, all battered and scarred with sin, is auction cheap by the thoughtless crowd. Like the old violin, a heap of pottage, a glass of wine, a game, and he travels on, he is going once, he is going twice, he is going, and almost gone, but the Master comes, and the foolish crowd can never quite understand the worth of a soul and the change that is wrought by the touch of the Master’s hand.