text_original: One look, one last look, to our cots and our towers, To the rows of our vines, and the beds of our flowers, To the church where the bones of our fathers decayed, Where we fondly had deemed that our own would be laid. Alas!
text_transcription: ONE LOOK ONE LAST LOOK TO OUR COTS AND OUR TOWERS TO THE ROWS OF OUR VINES AND THE BEDS OF OUR FLOWERS TO THE CHURCH WHERE THE BONES OF OUR FATHERS DECAYED OR WE FONDLY HAD DEEMED THAT OUR OWN WOULD BE LAID ALAS
phonemes: wˈʌn lˈʊk, wˈʌn lˈæst lˈʊk, tʊ ˌaʊɚ kˈɑːts ænd ˌaʊɚ tˈaʊɚz, tə ðə ɹˈoʊz ʌv ˌaʊɚ vˈaɪnz, ænd ðə bˈɛdz ʌv ˌaʊɚ flˈaʊɚz, tə ðə tʃˈɜːtʃ wˌɛɹ ðə bˈoʊnz ʌv ˌaʊɚ fˈɑːðɚz dᵻkˈeɪd, wˌɛɹ wiː fˈɑːndli hæd dˈiːmd ðæt ˌaʊɚɹ ˈoʊn wʊd biː lˈeɪd. ɐlˈæs!