text_original: Shake as with sorrow, and the hour is near Wherein thy voice shall seem a thing of fear, Like to a lion's at the trembling fold; And men shall waken to the midnight cold, And feel that dawn is far, that night is drear.
text_transcription: SHAKE AS WITH SORROW AND THE HOUR IS NEAR WHEREIN THY VOICE SHALL SEEM A THING OF FEAR LIKE TO ALLIANCE AT A TREMBLING FOLD AND MAN SHALL WAKEN TO THE MIDNIGHT COLD AND FEEL THAT DAWN IS FAR THAT NIGHT IS DREAR
phonemes: ʃˈeɪk æz wɪð sˈɑːɹoʊ, ænd ðɪ ˈaʊɚɹ ɪz nˌɪɹ wˈɛɹɪn ðˌaɪ vˈɔɪs ʃˌæl sˈiːm ɐ θˈɪŋ ʌv fˈɪɹ, lˈaɪk tʊ ɐ lˈaɪənz æt ðə tɹˈɛmblɪŋ fˈoʊld; ænd mˈɛn ʃˌæl wˈeɪkən tə ðə mˈɪdnaɪt kˈoʊld, ænd fˈiːl ðæt dˈɔːn ɪz fˈɑːɹ, ðæt nˈaɪt ɪz dɹˈɪɹ.