'Twas battered and scarred and the old
auctioneer
He though it scarcely worthwhile To waste much time with
the old violin
But he held it up with a smile
What am I bidden, good folk, he cried
Who'll start the bidding for me
A dollar, a dollar, come, who'll make it two
Two dollars, now who'll make it three
Three dollars once and three dollars twice
And going for three -- but no
From the back of the room a grey haired manStepped forward and picked up the bow
And brushing the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the loose strings
He played a melody pure and so sweet
Sweet as the angels sing
When the music ceased the old auctioneer
In a voice that was quiet and low
Asked, What am I bidden for the old violin
And he held it up with the bow
A thousand dollars -- come, who'll make it two
Two thousand, and who'll make it three
Three thousand once and three thousand twice
And going and gone, cried he
And the people shouted, and 
some of them cried
We do not quite understand
What changed its worth -- 
swift came the reply
The touch of the master's hand
And many a man 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 pottage, a glass of wine
A game and he travels on
He's going once and he's going twice
He'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 is wrought
By the touch of the master's hand
JN
Oct96
There was always love in Daddy's hands