text_original: usk, the dew; For the beautiful summer vanished, For the moonlight walks  and _you_. GRANDPA'S CHRISTMAS In his great cushioned chair by the fender An old man sits dreaming to night, His withered hands, licked by the tender Warm rays of the red anthracite, Are folded before him, all listless; His dim eyes are fixed on the blaze, While over him sweeps the resistless Flood tide of old days.
text_transcription: GRANDPA'S CHRISTMAS BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX READ FOR LIBERVOXDOT ORK BY SONYA GRANDPA'S CHRISTMAS IN HIS GREAT CUSHIONED CHAIR BY THE FENDER AN OLD MAN SITS DREAMING TO NIGHT HIS WITHERED HANDS LICKED BY THE TENDER WARM RAYS OF THE RED ANTRACITE ARE FOLDED BEFORE HIM ALL LISTLESS HIS DIM EYES ARE FIXED ON THE BLAZE WHILE OVER HIM SWEEPS THE RESISTLESS FLOODD TIDE OF OLD DAYS
phonemes: ˈʌsk, ðə dˈuː; fɚðə bjˈuːɾifəl sˈʌmɚ vˈænɪʃt, fɚðə mˈuːnlaɪt wˈɔːks ænd juː. ɡɹˈændpɑːz kɹˈɪsməs ɪn hɪz ɡɹˈeɪt kˈʊʃənd tʃˈɛɹ baɪ ðə fˈɛndɚɹ ɐn ˈoʊld mˈæn sˈɪts dɹˈiːmɪŋ tə nˈaɪt, hɪz wˈɪðɚd hˈændz, lˈɪkt baɪ ðə tˈɛndɚ wˈɔːɹm ɹˈeɪz ʌvðə ɹˈɛd ˈænθɹɐsˌaɪt, ɑːɹ fˈoʊldᵻd bᵻfˈɔːɹ hˌɪm, ˈɔːl lˈɪstləs; hɪz dˈɪm ˈaɪz ɑːɹ fˈɪkst ɔnðə blˈeɪz, wˌaɪl ˌoʊvɚ hˌɪm swˈiːps ðə ɹᵻzˈɪstləs flˈʌd tˈaɪd ʌv ˈoʊld dˈeɪz.