text_original: The Widow's Mite  ay, so sustained, She battled onward, nor complained, Though friends were fewer: And while she toiled for daily fare, A little crutch upon the stair Was music to her.
text_transcription: THE WIDOW'S MIGHT I SO SUSTAINED SHE BATTLED ONWARD NOR COMPLAINED THOUGH FRIENDS WERE FEWER AND WHILE SHE TOILED FOR DAILY FARE A LITTLE CRUTCH UPON THE STAIR WAS MUSIC TO HER
phonemes: ðə wˈɪdoʊz mˈaɪt ˈaɪ, sˌoʊ səstˈeɪnd, ʃiː bˈæɾəld ˈɑːnwɚd, nˈɔːɹ kəmplˈeɪnd, ðˌoʊ fɹˈɛndz wɜː fjˈuːɚ: ænd wˌaɪl ʃiː tˈɔɪld fɔːɹ dˈeɪli fˈɛɹ, ɐ lˈɪɾəl kɹˈʌtʃ əpˌɑːn ðə stˈɛɹ wʌz mjˈuːzɪk tə hɜː.