text_original: To each his sufferings : all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies?
text_transcription: TO EACH HIS SUFFERINGS ALL ARE MEN CONDEMNED ALIKE TO GROAN THE TENDER FOR ANOTHER'S PAIN THE UNFEELING FOR HIS OWN YET AH WHY SHOULD THEY KNOW THEIR FATE SINCE SORROW NEVER COMES TOO LATE AND HAPPINESS TOO SWIFTLY FLIES
phonemes: tʊ ˈiːtʃ hɪz sˈʌfɚɹɪŋz : ˈɔːl ɑːɹ mˈɛn, kəndˈɛmd ɐlˈaɪk tə ɡɹˈoʊn; ðə tˈɛndɚ fɔːɹ ɐnˈʌðɚz pˈeɪn, ðɪ ʌnfˈiːlɪŋ fɔːɹ hɪz ˈoʊn. jˈɛt, ˈɑː ! wˌaɪ ʃˌʊd ðeɪ nˈoʊ ðɛɹ fˈeɪt, sˈɪns sˈɑːɹoʊ nˈɛvɚ kˈʌmz tˈuː lˈeɪt, ænd hˈæpɪnəs tˈuː swˈɪftli flˈaɪz?