text_original: So with the race. The centuries pass And nations fall like leaves of grass. They die, forgotten and unsung; While straight from God some souls are flung, To live immortal and sublime.
text_transcription: SO WITH THE RACE THE CENTURIES PASS AND NATIONS FALL LIKE LEAVES OF GRASS THEY DIE FORGOTTEN AND UNSUNG WHILE STRAIGHT FROM GOD SOME SOULS ARE FLUNG TO LIVE IMMORTAL AND SUBLIME
phonemes: sˌoʊ wɪððə ɹˈeɪs. ðə sˈɛntʃɚɹiz pˈæs ænd nˈeɪʃənz fˈɔːl lˈaɪk lˈiːvz ʌv ɡɹˈæs. ðeɪ dˈaɪ, fɚɡˈɑːʔn̩ ænd ʌnsˈʌŋ; wˌaɪl stɹˈeɪt fɹʌm ɡˈɑːd sˌʌm sˈoʊlz ɑːɹ flˈʌŋ, tə lˈɪv ɪmˈɔːɹɾəl ænd sʌblˈaɪm.