text_original: Of course, the love of the frontier was in the grain of these men. But what did they come back to? Day after day would the sun rise over the forest and beat down upon the little enclosure in which we were penned. The row of cabins leaning against the stockade marked the boundaries of our diminutive world.
text_transcription: OF COURSE THE LOVE OF THE FRONTIER WAS IN THE GRAIN OF THESE MEN BUT WHAT DID THEY COME BACK TO DAY AFTER DAY WOULD THE SUN RISE OVER THE FOREST AND BEAT DOWN UPON THE LITTLE ENCLOSURE IN WHICH WE WERE PENNED THE ROW OF CABINS LEANING AGAINST THE STOCKADE MARKED THE BOUNDARIES OF OUR DIMINUTIVE WORLD
phonemes: ʌv kˈɔːɹs, ðə lˈʌv ʌvðə fɹʌntˈɪɹ wʌz ɪnðə ɡɹˈeɪn ʌv ðiːz mˈɛn. bˌʌt wʌt dˈɪd ðeɪ kˈʌm bˈæk tuː? dˈeɪ ˈæftɚ dˈeɪ wʊd ðə sˈʌn ɹˈaɪz ˌoʊvɚ ðə fˈɔːɹɪst ænd bˈiːt dˌaʊn əpˌɑːn ðə lˈɪɾəl ɛŋklˈoʊʒɚ ɪnwˌɪtʃ wiː wɜː pˈɛnd. ðə ɹˈoʊ ʌv kˈæbɪnz lˈiːnɪŋ ɐɡˈɛnst ðə stˈɑːkeɪd mˈɑːɹkt ðə bˈaʊndɚɹiz ʌv ˌaʊɚ dᵻmˈɪnjuːtˌɪv wˈɜːld.