text_original: 36 NEVER A TIME FOR SITTING AND SIGHING. Oh ! to tread the mountain land, Feel the world before one, Pack on back and stick in hand, — Never a care comes o'er one. Hour by hour the sweet day flying, Mountains open, valleys close, Life with hundred voices crying. While the young blood strongly flows.
text_transcription: NEVER A TIME FOR SITTING AND SIGHING OH TO TREAD THE MOUNTAIN LAND FEEL THE WORLD BEFORE ONE PACK ON BACK AND STICK IN HAND NEVER A CARE COMES O'ER ONE HOUR BY HOUR THE SWEET DAY FLYING MOUNTAINS OPEN VALLEYS CLOSE LIFE WITH HUNDRED VOICES CRYING WHILE THE YOUNG BLOOD STRONGLY FLOWS
phonemes: θˈɜːɾi sˈɪks nˈɛvɚɹ ɐ tˈaɪm fɔːɹ sˈɪɾɪŋ ænd sˈaɪɪŋ. ˈoʊ ! tə tɹˈɛd ðə mˈaʊntɪn lˈænd, fˈiːl ðə wˈɜːld bᵻfˈɔːɹ wˌʌn, pˈæk ˌɔn bˈæk ænd stˈɪk ɪn hˈænd, — nˈɛvɚɹ ɐ kˈɛɹ kˈʌmz ˈɔːɹ wˌʌn. ˈaʊɚ baɪ ˈaʊɚ ðə swˈiːt dˈeɪ flˈaɪɪŋ, mˈaʊntɪnz ˈoʊpən, vˈælɪz klˈoʊs, lˈaɪf wɪð hˈʌndɹɪd vˈɔɪsᵻz kɹˈaɪɪŋ. wˌaɪl ðə jˈʌŋ blˈʌd stɹˈɔŋli flˈoʊz.