text_original: Ay, mock, ye skeptics, And laugh to scorn The faith I hold Of all life that's born; It cannot be wasted, Nor can it be lost. And oh, for the faith, And the Indian's trust, That Don and his mistress Will meet some day   Just over the river Not far away!
text_transcription: AY MOCK YE SCEPTICS AND LAUGH TO SCORN THE FAITH I HOLD OF ALL LIFE THAT'S BORN IT CANNOT BE WASTED NOR CAN IT BE LOST AND OH FOR THE FAITH IN THE INDIANS TRUST THAT DON AND HIS MISTRESS WILL MEET SOME DAY JUST OVER THE RIVER NOT FAR AWAY
phonemes: ˈaɪ, mˈɑːk, jiː skˈɛptɪks, ænd lˈæf tə skˈɔːɹn ðə fˈeɪθ aɪ hˈoʊld ʌv ˈɔːl lˈaɪf ðæts bˈɔːɹn; ɪt kænˈɑːt biː wˈeɪstᵻd, nˈɔːɹ kæn ɪt biː lˈɔst. ænd ˈoʊ, fɚðə fˈeɪθ, ænd ðɪ ˈɪndiənz tɹˈʌst, ðæt dˈɑːn ænd hɪz mˈɪstɹəs wɪl mˈiːt sˌʌm dˈeɪ dʒˈʌst ˌoʊvɚ ðə ɹˈɪvɚ nˌɑːt fˈɑːɹ ɐwˈeɪ!