text_original: Come, thou in whom our toil is sweet, Our shadow in the noonday heat, Before whom mourning flieth fleet. Bright Sun of Grace! thy sunshine dart On all who cry to thee apart, And fill with gladness every heart.
text_transcription: COME THOU IN WHOM OUR TOIL IS SWEET OUR SHADOW IN THE NOONDAY HEAT BEFORE WHOM MORNING FLIETH FLEET BRIGHT SUN OF GRACE THY SUNSHINE DART ON ALL WHO CRY TO THEE APART AND FILL WITH GLADNESS EVERY HEART
phonemes: kˈʌm, ðˈaʊ ɪn hˈuːm ˌaʊɚ tˈɔɪl ɪz swˈiːt, ˌaʊɚ ʃˈædoʊ ɪnðə nˈuːndeɪ hˈiːt, bᵻfˌɔːɹ hˈuːm mˈɔːɹnɪŋ flˈaɪəθ flˈiːt. bɹˈaɪt sˈʌn ʌv ɡɹˈeɪs! ðˌaɪ sˈʌnʃaɪn dˈɑːɹt ˌɔn ˈɔːl hˌuː kɹˈaɪ tə ðiː ɐpˈɑːɹt, ænd fˈɪl wɪð ɡlˈædnəs ˈɛvɹi hˈɑːɹt.