text_original: May God's kind angels guard him When the fray is fierce and grim, And blunt the point of every sword That turns its hate on him. Where round the torn yet dear green flag The brave and lovin' throng   But the lasses of Glenwherry smile At me for thinkin' long.
text_transcription: MAY GOD'S KIND ANGELS GUARD HIM WHEN THE PHRASE FIERCE AND GRIM AND BLUNT THE POINT OF EVERY SORT THAT TURNS ITS HATE ON HIM WHERE ROUND THE TORN YET DEAR GREEN FLAG THE BRAVE AND LOVING THRONG BUT THE LASSES OF GLENWARY SMILE AT ME FOR THINKING LONG
phonemes: mˈeɪ ɡˈɑːdz kˈaɪnd ˈeɪndʒəlz ɡˈɑːɹd hˌɪm wɛn ðə fɹˈeɪ ɪz fˈɪɹs ænd ɡɹˈɪm, ænd blˈʌnt ðə pˈɔɪnt ʌv ˈɛvɹi sˈɔːɹd ðæt tˈɜːnz ɪts hˈeɪt ˈɔn hˌɪm. wˌɛɹ ɹˈaʊnd ðə tˈɔːɹn jˈɛt dˈɪɹ ɡɹˈiːn flˈæɡ ðə bɹˈeɪv ænd lˈʌvɪn θɹˈɔŋ bˌʌt ðə lˈæsᵻz ʌv ɡlˈɛnwɛɹi smˈaɪl æt mˌiː fɔːɹ θˈɪŋkɪn lˈɔŋ.