text_original: There are homeless orphans weeping; The widow's wail Is on the gale, The sire in his gore lies sleeping. * * * * * And are there dastard souls, Whose homes these homes were shielding, Who can coldly read While their brothers bleed, Nor aid nor pity yielding?
text_transcription: THERE ARE HOMELESS ORPHANS WEEPING THE WIDOW'S WAIL IS ON THE GALE THE SIRE IN HIS SCHOOL LIES SLEEPING AND ARE THERE DASTARD SOULS WHOSE HOMES THESE HOMES WERE SHIELDING WHO CAN COLDLY READ WHILE THEIR BROTHERS BLEED NOR AID NOR PITY YIELDING
phonemes: ðɛɹˌɑːɹ hˈoʊmləs ˈɔːɹfənz wˈiːpɪŋ; ðə wˈɪdoʊz wˈeɪl ɪz ɔnðə ɡˈeɪl, ðə sˈaɪɚɹ ɪn hɪz ɡˈɔːɹ lˈaɪz slˈiːpɪŋ. ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ˈæstɚɹˌɪsk ænd ɑːɹ ðɛɹ dˈæstɚd sˈoʊlz, hˌuːz hˈoʊmz ðiːz hˈoʊmz wɜː ʃˈiːldɪŋ, hˌuː kæn kˈoʊldli ɹˈiːd wˌaɪl ðɛɹ bɹˈʌðɚz blˈiːd, nˈɔːɹ ˈeɪd nˈɔːɹ pˈɪɾi jˈiːldɪŋ?