text_original: I may not see that blessed land, But she roams o'er the sod The Lord's pure eyes have hallowed, Where once His feet have trod. Yet He in mercy has drawn near, He has me comforted   So near He seemed I almost felt His hand upon my head.
text_transcription: I MAY NOT SEE THAT BLESSED LAND BUT SHE ROAMS O'ER THE SOD THE LORD'S PURE EYES HAVE HALLOWED WHERE ONCE HIS FEET HAVE TROD YET HE IN HIS MERCY HAS DRAWN NEAR HE HAS ME COMFORTED SO NEAR HE SEEM'D I ALMOST FELT HIS HAND UPON MY HEAD
phonemes: aɪ mˈeɪ nˌɑːt sˈiː ðæt blˈɛst lˈænd, bˌʌt ʃiː ɹˈoʊmz ˈɔːɹ ðə sˈɑːd ðə lˈɔːɹdz pjˈʊɹ ˈaɪz hæv hˈæloʊd, wˌɛɹ wˈʌns hɪz fˈiːt hæv tɹˈɑːd. jˈɛt hiː ɪn mˈɜːsi hɐz dɹˈɔːn nˈɪɹ, hiː hɐz mˌiː kˈʌmfɚɾᵻd sˌoʊ nˌɪɹ hiː sˈiːmd aɪ ˈɔːlmoʊst fˈɛlt hɪz hˈænd əpˌɑːn maɪ hˈɛd.