text_original: [_The seventh sings to the Irish harp_.] Evolving day from night for evermore! And as yon robe of glorious nightly fire Pales when the morning beams to noon aspire, Thus He who rules with law eternal, Creating order fair diurnal, Casts down the proud and doth exalt the poor.
text_transcription: THE SEVEN SINGS TO THE IRISH HARP EVOLVING DAY FROM NIGHT FOR EVERMORE AND AS YON ROBE OF GLORIOUS NIGHTLY FIRE PALES WHEN THE MORNING BEAMS TO NOON ASPIRE THUS HE WHO RULES WITH LAW ETERNAL CREATING ORDER FAIR DIURNAL CASTS DOWN THE PROUD AND DOTH EXALT THE POOR
phonemes: [ðə sˈɛvənθ sˈɪŋz tə ðɪ ˈaɪɹɪʃ hˈɑːɹp.] ɪvˈɑːlvɪŋ dˈeɪ fɹʌm nˈaɪt fɔːɹ ˌɛvɚmˈɔːɹ! ænd æz jˈɑːn ɹˈoʊb ʌv ɡlˈɔːɹiəs nˈaɪtli fˈaɪɚ pˈeɪlz wɛn ðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ bˈiːmz tə nˈuːn ɐspˈaɪɚ, ðˈʌs hiː hˌuː ɹˈuːlz wɪð lˈɔː ɪtˈɜːnəl, kɹiːˈeɪɾɪŋ ˈɔːɹdɚ fˈɛɹ dˈɪɜːnəl, kˈæsts dˌaʊn ðə pɹˈaʊd ænd dʌθ ɛɡzˈɑːlt ðə pˈʊɹ.