THE TOUCH OF THE MASTER'S HAND
'twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But he held it up with a smile:
"What am bidden, good folks?" 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?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice . . .
And 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 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
With a voice that was quiet and low
Said, "What am I...