text_original: 26 IN PORT Out of the fires of the sunset come we again to our own — We have girdled the world in our sailing under many an orient star; Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice gales cling, And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross the harbor bar.
text_transcription: IN PORT OUT OF THE FIRES OF THE SUNSET COME WE AGAIN TO OUR OWN WE HAVE GIRDLED THE WORLD IN OUR SAILING UNDER MANY AN ORIENT STAR STILL TO OUR BATTERED CANVAS THE SCENTS OF THE SPICE GALES CLING AND OUR HEARTS ARE SWELLING WITHIN US AS WE CROSS THE HARBOUR BAR
phonemes: twˈɛnti sˈɪks ɪn pˈɔːɹt ˌaʊɾəv ðə fˈaɪɚz ʌvðə sˈʌnsɛt kˈʌm wiː ɐɡˈɛn tʊ ˌaʊɚɹ ˈoʊn — wiː hæv ɡˈɜːdəld ðə wˈɜːld ɪn ˌaʊɚ sˈeɪlɪŋ ˌʌndɚ mˈɛni ɐn ˈɔːɹiənt stˈɑːɹ; stˈɪl tʊ ˌaʊɚ bˈæɾɚd kˈænvəs ðə sˈɛnts ʌvðə spˈaɪs ɡˈeɪlz klˈɪŋ, ænd ˌaʊɚ hˈɑːɹts ɑːɹ swˈɛlɪŋ wɪðˌɪn ˌʌs æz wiː kɹˈɔs ðə hˈɑːɹbɚ bˈɑːɹ.