text_original: Amid the tumult and the hate, THE PANAMA PACIFIC EXPOSITION None hears the distant menace of the tread Of One whose hands hold darkness and the dust,  Whose reign is soon or late, Whose hunger with the monarch s pomp is fed, Who giveth kingdoms to the moth and rust, Till o er the glory, fleeting as a breath, "Lo! I am come!" the Desolation saith. IV Behold
text_transcription: AMID THE TUMULT AND THE HATE NONE HEARS THE DISTANT MANNERS OF THE TREAD OF ONE WHOSE HANDS HOLD DARKNESS AND THE DUST WHOSE REIGN IS SOON OR LATE WHOSE HUNGER WITH THE MONARCH'S POMP IS FED WHO GIVETH KINGDOMS TO THE MOTH AND RUST TILL OVER THE GLORY FLEETING AS A BREATH LO I AM COME THE DESOLATION SAITH FOUR BEHOLD
phonemes: ɐmˈɪd ðə tˈuːmʌlt ænd ðə hˈeɪt, ðə pˈænəmˌɑː pɐsˈɪfɪk ɛkspəzˈɪʃən nˈʌn hˈɪɹz ðə dˈɪstənt mˈɛnɪs ʌvðə tɹˈɛd ʌv wˈʌn hˌuːz hˈændz hˈoʊld dˈɑːɹknəs ænd ðə dˈʌst,  hˌuːz ɹˈeɪn ɪz sˈuːn ɔːɹ lˈeɪt, hˌuːz hˈʌŋɡɚ wɪððə mˈɑːnɚk ˈɛs pˈɑːmp ɪz fˈɛd, hˌuː ɡˈɪvəθ kˈɪŋdəmz tə ðə mˈɑːθ ænd ɹˈʌst, tˈɪl ˈoʊ ˈɜː ðə ɡlˈɔːɹi, flˈiːɾɪŋ æz ɐ bɹˈɛθ, "lˈoʊ! aɪɐm kˈʌm!" ðə dˌɛsəlˈeɪʃən sˈeɪθ. ɹˌoʊmən fˈɔːɹ bᵻhˈoʊld