I am the master of my soul.
But how cruel it is to serve the self. Iron makes not my manacles,
nor steel my fetters; but self-worship becomes that which enslaves me. I do not
chafe against the chains – I do not even try. Alas, who can save me from the
blackness that binds?
He can. The chains that were wound around my wrists became
the wounds that mar his hands. The blackness that binds was swallowed up by the
light that gives life. As he was raised on the cross, he triumphed; and as he
was raised from the dead, he was victorious.
He is the master of my soul.
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