text_original: BY THE CAMP FIRE. Good cheer, — beneath the great tall trees, With the camp fire burning red, As you lie and hear the creeping breeze In the green roof overhead. Pile up the broken wood, sweet maid. And make the night yield room ; For who shall say in forest glade. What strange things walk the gloom
text_transcription: BY THE CAMP FIRE GOOD CHEER BENEATH THE GREAT TALL TREES WITH THE CAMP FIRE BURNING RED AS YOU LIE AND HEAR THE CREEPING BREEZE IN THE GREEN ROOF OVERHEAD PILE UP THE BROKEN WOOD SWEET MAID AND MAKE THE NIGHT YIELD ROOM FOR WHO SHALL SAY IN FOREST GLADE WHAT STRANGE THINGS WALK THE GLOOM
phonemes: baɪ ðə kˈæmp fˈaɪɚ. ɡˈʊd tʃˈɪɹ, — bᵻnˌiːθ ðə ɡɹˈeɪt tˈɔːl tɹˈiːz, wɪððə kˈæmp fˈaɪɚ bˈɜːnɪŋ ɹˈɛd, æz juː lˈaɪ ænd hˈɪɹ ðə kɹˈiːpɪŋ bɹˈiːz ɪnðə ɡɹˈiːn ɹˈuːf ˌoʊvɚhˈɛd. pˈaɪl ˌʌp ðə bɹˈoʊkən wˈʊd, swˈiːt mˈeɪd. ænd mˌeɪk ðə nˈaɪt jˈiːld ɹˈuːm ; fɔːɹ hˌuː ʃˌæl sˈeɪ ɪn fˈɔːɹɪst ɡlˈeɪd. wˌʌt stɹˈeɪndʒ θˈɪŋz wˈɔːk ðə ɡlˈuːm