text_original: He knows his purpose and he does not swerve, And with a quiet mien and steady nerve He meets dark looks where'er his steps may go, And silence that is bruising as a blow, Where late were smiles and words of ardent praise.
text_transcription: HE KNOWS HIS PURPOSE AND HE DOES NOT SWERVE AND WITH A QUIET MEAN AND STEADY NERVE HE MEETS DARK LOOKS WHEREVER HIS STEPS MAY GO AND SILENCE THAT IS BRUISING AS A BLOW WHERE LATE WERE SMILES AND WORDS OF ARDENT PRAISE
phonemes: hiː nˈoʊz hɪz pˈɜːpəs ænd hiː dʌznˌɑːt swˈɜːv, ænd wɪð ɐ kwˈaɪət mˈiːn ænd stˈɛdi nˈɜːv hiː mˈiːts dˈɑːɹk lˈʊks wˈɛɹɚ hɪz stˈɛps mˈeɪ ɡˈoʊ, ænd sˈaɪləns ðæt ɪz bɹˈuːzɪŋ æz ɐ blˈoʊ, wˌɛɹ lˈeɪt wɜː smˈaɪlz ænd wˈɜːdz ʌv ˈɑːɹdənt pɹˈeɪz.