text_original: 24 OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND There^s a piping wind from a sunrise shore Blowing over a silver sea, There's a joyous voice in the lapsing tide That calls enticingly; The mist of dawn has taken flight To the dim horizon's bound, And with wide sails set and eager hearts We're off to the fishing ground.
text_transcription: OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND THERE'S A PIPING WIND FROM A SUNRISE SHORE BLOWING OVER A SILVER SEA THERE'S A JOYOUS VOICE IN THE LAPSING TIDE THAT CALLS ENTICINGLY THE MIST OF DAWN HAS TAKEN FLIGHT TO THE DIM HORIZON'S BOUND AND WITH WIDE SAILS SET AND EAGER HEARTS WEAR OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND
phonemes: twˈɛnti fˈɔːɹ ˌoʊˌɛfˈɛf tuː ðə fˈɪʃɪŋ ɡɹˈaʊnd ðɛɹ ˈɛs ɐ pˈaɪpɪŋ wˈɪnd fɹʌm ɐ sˈʌnɹaɪz ʃˈɔːɹ blˈoʊɪŋ ˌoʊvɚɹ ɐ sˈɪlvɚ sˈiː, ðɛɹz ɐ dʒˈɔɪəs vˈɔɪs ɪnðə lˈæpsɪŋ tˈaɪd ðæt kˈɔːlz ɛntˈaɪsɪŋli; ðə mˈɪst ʌv dˈɔːn hɐz tˈeɪkən flˈaɪt tə ðə dˈɪm hɚɹˈaɪzənz bˈaʊnd, ænd wɪð wˈaɪd sˈeɪlz sˈɛt ænd ˈiːɡɚ hˈɑːɹts wɪɹ ˈɔf tə ðə fˈɪʃɪŋ ɡɹˈaʊnd.