The Auctioneer held up the old violin
And surveying the crowd, he asked with a grin,
"What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
"A dollar or two? Who'll make it three?
Perhaps it has no real value," said he.
"But what am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
When no one spoke and the auctioneer signed,
And took the old fiddle to set it aside,
When far in the rear there a rose an old man,
And walked to the front of the row.
He lovingly brushed the dust from its face
And tightened the strings, put the bow in it's place.
Then drawing the bow with a move sure and slow, the old man began to play
With the touch of the master's hand
The old violin sang a song from within,
And the listeners began to understand
The touch of the master's hand.
The old man concluded and shuffled away,
And the auctioneer looked where the violin lay.
Then raising it up, he turned to the crowd
With a voice that was humble and low,
"Who'll start the bidding? A thousand," said he.
"Two thousand once, and who'll give me three?
Three thousand going and three thousand gone," he whispered, then turned away.
Well, some in the crowd were confused and amazed. What changed the value from night to day?
Is the old violin not the same as before?
It seemed they could not understand.
For many a life scarred and battered with sin
Can find a great change, like the old violin,
When our eyes are opened, our hearts touched from within by the touch of the Master's hand.
With the touch of the Master's hand,
The old violin sang a song from within
And the listeners began to understand,
The touch of the Master's hand.
With the touch of the Master's hand,
Like the old violin, our heart sings from within,
When we look on His face to understand,
It's the touch of the Master's hand.