text_original: Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high.
text_transcription: UP SPOKE OUR OWN LITTLE MABEL SAYING FATHER WHO MAKES IT SNOW AND I TOLD OF THE GOOD OLD FATHER WHO CARES FOR US HERE BELOW AGAIN I LOOKED AT THE SNOWFALL AND THOUGHT OF THE LEADEN SKY THAT ARCHED OVER OUR FIRST GREAT SORROW WHEN THAT MOUNT WAS HEAPED SO HIGH
phonemes: ˌʌp spˈoʊk ˌaʊɚɹ ˈoʊn lˈɪɾəl mˈeɪbəl, sˈeɪɪŋ, "fˈɑːðɚ, hˌuː mˌeɪks ɪt snˈoʊ?" ænd aɪ tˈoʊld ʌvðə ɡˈʊd ˈɔːl fˈɑːðɚ hˌuː kˈɛɹz fɔːɹ ˌʌs hˈɪɹ bᵻlˈoʊ. ɐɡˈɛn aɪ lˈʊkt æt ðə snˈoʊ fˈɔːl, ænd θˈɔːt ʌvðə lˈɛdən skˈaɪ ðæt ˈɑːɹtʃt ˈɔːɹ ˌaʊɚ fˈɜːst ɡɹˈeɪt sˈɑːɹoʊ, wˌɛn ðæt mˈaʊnd wʌz hˈiːpt sˌoʊ hˈaɪ.