text_original: If this sweet haven be our destined rest, Then naught remains but to be blest, To thank our God for all his gifts, Who from our eyes the veil uplifts, Where shines the light upon the heavenly shore, [_The fourth sings to the viol_.
text_transcription: IF THIS SWEET HAVEN BE OUR DESTINED REST THEN NOUGHT REMAINS BUT TO BE BLEST TO THANK OUR GOD FOR ALL HIS GIFTS WHO FROM OUR EYES THE VEIL UPLIFTS WHERE SHINES THE LIGHT UPON THE HEAVENLY SHORE THE FOURTH SINGS TO THE VILE
phonemes: ɪf ðɪs swˈiːt hˈeɪvən biː ˌaʊɚ dˈɛstɪnd ɹˈɛst, ðˈɛn nˈɔːt ɹᵻmˈeɪnz bˌʌt təbi blˈɛst, tə θˈæŋk ˌaʊɚ ɡˈɑːd fɔːɹ ˈɔːl hɪz ɡˈɪfts, hˌuː fɹʌm ˌaʊɚɹ ˈaɪz ðə vˈeɪl ʌplˈɪfts, wˌɛɹ ʃˈaɪnz ðə lˈaɪt əpˌɑːn ðə hˈɛvənli ʃˈɔːɹ, [ðə fˈɔːɹθ sˈɪŋz tə ðə vˈaɪəl.