text_original: Sing till the headlands black and grim Echo us back our song! 25 Oh, *tis a glad and heartsome thing To wake ere the night be done And steer the course that our fathers steered In the path of the rising sun. The wind and welkin and wave are ours Wherever our bourne is found, And we envy no landsman his dream and sleep When we're off to the fishing ground.
text_transcription: SING TILL THE HEADLANDS BLACK AND GRIM ECHO US BACK OUR SONG OH TIS A GLAD AND HEARTSOME THING TO WAKE ERE THE NIGHT BE DONE AND STEER THE COURSE THAT OUR FATHER STEERED IN THE PATH OF THE RISING SUN THE WIND AND WELKIN AND WAVE ARE OURS WHEREVER OUR BORN IS FOUND AND WE ENVY NO LANDSMAN HIS DREAM AND SLEEP WHEN WE'RE OFF TO THE FISHING GROUND
phonemes: sˈɪŋ tˈɪl ðə hˈɛdləndz blˈæk ænd ɡɹˈɪm ˈɛkoʊ ˌʌs bˈæk ˌaʊɚ sˈɔŋ! twˈɛnti fˈaɪv ˈoʊ, ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk tˈɪz ɐ ɡlˈæd ænd hˈɑːɹtsʌm θˈɪŋ tə wˈeɪk ˈɛɹ ðə nˈaɪt biː dˈʌn ænd stˈɪɹ ðə kˈɔːɹs ðæt ˌaʊɚ fˈɑːðɚz stˈɪɹd ɪnðə pˈæθ ʌvðə ɹˈaɪzɪŋ sˈʌn. ðə wˈɪnd ænd wˈɛlkɪn ænd wˈeɪv ɑːɹ aʊɚz wɛɹˈɛvɚɹ ˌaʊɚ bˈɔːɹn ɪz fˈaʊnd, ænd wiː ˈɛnvi nˈoʊ lˈændzmən hɪz dɹˈiːm ænd slˈiːp wɛn wɪɹ ˈɔf tə ðə fˈɪʃɪŋ ɡɹˈaʊnd.