text_original: Before yon field of trembling gold Is garnered into dusty sheaves, Or ere the autumn's scarlet leaves Flutter as birds adown the wold, I may have run the glorious race, And caught the torch while yet aflame, And called upon the holy name Of Him who now doth hide His face.
text_transcription: BEFORE YON FIELD OF TREMBLING GOLD IS GARNERED INTO DUSTY SHEAVES OR ERE THE AUTUMN'S SCARLET LEAVES FLUTTER AS BIRDS ADOWN THE WORLD I MAY HAVE RUN THE GLORIOUS RAYS AND CAUGHT THE TORCH WHILE YET AFLAME AND CALLED UPON THE HOLY NAME OF HIM WHO NOW DOTH HIDE HIS FACE
phonemes: bᵻfˌɔːɹ jˈɑːn fˈiːld ʌv tɹˈɛmblɪŋ ɡˈoʊld ɪz ɡˈɑːɹnɚd ˌɪntʊ dˈʌsti ʃˈiːvz, ɔːɹ ˈɛɹ ðɪ ˈɔːɾʌmz skˈɑːɹlɪt lˈiːvz flˈʌɾɚɹ æz bˈɜːdz ɐdˈaʊn ðə wˈoʊld, aɪ mˌeɪhɐv ɹˈʌn ðə ɡlˈɔːɹiəs ɹˈeɪs, ænd kˈɔːt ðə tˈɔːɹtʃ wˌaɪl jˈɛt ɐflˈeɪm, ænd kˈɔːld əpˌɑːn ðə hˈoʊli nˈeɪm ʌv hˌɪm hˌuː nˈaʊ dʌθ hˈaɪd hɪz fˈeɪs.