text_original: Oh, pretty dark eyed bird of the South, With your face so mournful and white There is many a little Northern girl That is breathing that prayer to night. There's a little girl on the hills of Maine Looking out through the fading light, She looks down the winding path, and says, "He will surely come to night!"
text_transcription: O PRETTY DARK EYED BIRD OF THE SOUTH WITH YOUR FACE SO MOURNFUL AND WHITE THERE IS MANY A LITTLE NORTHERN GIRL THAT IS BREATHING THAT PRAYER TO NIGHT THERE IS A LITTLE GIRL ON THE HILLS OF MAINE LOOKING OUT THROUGH THE FADING LIGHT SHE LOOKS DOWN THE WINDING PATH AND SAYS HE WILL SURELY COME TO NIGHT
phonemes: ˈoʊ, pɹˈɪɾi dˈɑːɹk ˈaɪd bˈɜːd ʌvðə sˈaʊθ, wɪð jʊɹ fˈeɪs sˌoʊ mˈɔːɹnfəl ænd wˈaɪt ðɛɹ ɪz mˈɛni ɐ lˈɪɾəl nˈɔːɹðɚn ɡˈɜːl ðæt ɪz bɹˈiːðɪŋ ðæt pɹˈɛɹ tə nˈaɪt. ðɛɹz ɐ lˈɪɾəl ɡˈɜːl ɔnðə hˈɪlz ʌv mˈeɪn lˈʊkɪŋ ˈaʊt θɹuː ðə fˈeɪdɪŋ lˈaɪt, ʃiː lˈʊks dˌaʊn ðə wˈaɪndɪŋ pˈæθ, ænd sˈɛz, "hiː wɪl ʃˈʊɹli kˈʌm tə nˈaɪt!"