'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
   Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste such time on 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 - then two, only two -
   "Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
"Going for three" - but no -
   From the room far back, a gray-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 caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer, 
   With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said, "Now what am I bid for the old violin?"
   And as 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," cried he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
   "We do not understand,
"What changed the worth?" - Quick 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 a thoughtless crowd,
   Much like the old violin.
A 'mess of pottage' - a glass of wine,
   A game - and he travels on:
He is going once 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.

           -  Myra Brooks Welch