text_original: Thy secret voice invites me still The sweetness of thy yoke to prove, And fain I would; but though my will Be fixed, yet wide my passions rove. Yet hindrances strew all the way; I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.
text_transcription: THY SECRET VOICE INVITES ME STILL THE SWEETNESS OF THY YOKE TO PROVE AND FAIN I WOULD BUT THOUGH MY WILL BE FIXED YET WIDE MY PASSIONS ROVE YET HINDRANCES STREW ALL THE WAY I AIM AT THEE YET FROM THEE STRAY
phonemes: ðˌaɪ sˈiːkɹᵻt vˈɔɪs ɪnvˈaɪts mˌiː stˈɪl ðə swˈiːtnəs ʌv ðˌaɪ jˈoʊk tə pɹˈuːv, ænd fˈeɪn aɪ wˈʊd; bˌʌt ðˌoʊ maɪ wɪl biː fˈɪkst, jˈɛt wˈaɪd maɪ pˈæʃənz ɹˈoʊv. jˈɛt hˈɪndɹənsᵻz stɹˈuː ˈɔːl ðə wˈeɪ; aɪ ˈeɪm æt ðˈiː, jˈɛt fɹʌm ðiː stɹˈeɪ.