text_original: At Sunrise Now the stars have faded In the purple chill, Lo, the sun is kindling On the eastern hill. Tree by tree the forest Takes the golden tinge, As the shafts of glory Pierce the summit's fringe.
text_transcription: BOXTUDE WORK NOW THE STARS HAVE FADED IN THE PURPLE CHILL LO THE SUN IS KINDLING ON THE EASTERN HILL TREE BY TREE THE FOREST TAKES THE GOLDEN TINGE AS THE SHAFT'S GLORY PIERCE THE SUMMIT'S FRINGE
phonemes: æt sˈʌnɹaɪz nˈaʊ ðə stˈɑːɹz hæv fˈeɪdᵻd ɪnðə pˈɜːpəl tʃˈɪl, lˈoʊ, ðə sˈʌn ɪz kˈɪndlɪŋ ɔnðɪ ˈiːstɚn hˈɪl. tɹˈiː baɪ tɹˈiː ðə fˈɔːɹɪst tˈeɪks ðə ɡˈoʊldən tˈɪndʒ, æz ðə ʃˈæfts ʌv ɡlˈɔːɹi pˈɪɹs ðə sˈʌmɪts fɹˈɪndʒ.