text_original: The shadows of the convent towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snow drop of the year That in my bosom lies.
text_transcription: THE SHADOWS OF THE CONVENT TOWERS SLANT DOWN THE SNOWY SWARD STILL CREEPING WITH THE CREEPING HOURS THAT LEAD ME TO MY LORD MAKE THOU MY SPIRIT PURE AND CLEAR AS ARE THE FROSTY SKIES OR THIS FIRST SNOWDROP OF THE YEAR THAT IN MY BOSOM LIES
phonemes: ðə ʃˈædoʊz ʌvðə kˈɑːnvənt tˈaʊɚz slˈænt dˌaʊn ðə snˈoʊi swˈɔːɹd, stˈɪl kɹˈiːpɪŋ wɪððə kɹˈiːpɪŋ ˈaʊɚz ðæt lˈiːd mˌiː tə maɪ lˈɔːɹd : mˌeɪk ðˈaʊ maɪ spˈɪɹɪt pjˈʊɹ ænd klˈɪɹ æz ɑːɹ ðə fɹˈɔsti skˈaɪz, ɔːɹ ðɪs fˈɜːst snˈoʊ dɹˈɑːp ʌvðə jˈɪɹ ðæt ɪn maɪ bˈʊzəm lˈaɪz.