text_original: There the hearth was always warm, From the slander of the storm. There your comrade was your neighbor, Living on to morrow's labor. And the board was always steaming, Though Sir Ringlets might be dreaming.
text_transcription: THERE THE HEARTH WAS ALWAYS WARM FROM THE SLENDER OF THE STORM THERE YOUR COMRADE WAS YOUR NEIGHBOR LIVING ON TO MORROW'S LABOR AND THE BOARD WAS ALWAYS STEAMING THOUGH SIR RINGLETS MIGHT BE DREAMING
phonemes: ðɛɹ ðə hˈɑːɹθ wʌz ˈɔːlweɪz wˈɔːɹm, fɹʌmðə slˈændɚɹ ʌvðə stˈɔːɹm. ðɛɹ jʊɹ kˈɑːmɹæd wʌz jʊɹ nˈeɪbɚ, lˈɪvɪŋ ˌɔn tə mˈɑːɹoʊz lˈeɪbɚ. ænd ðə bˈɔːɹd wʌz ˈɔːlweɪz stˈiːmɪŋ, ðˌoʊ sˌɜː ɹˈɪŋɡlɪts mˌaɪt biː dɹˈiːmɪŋ.