text_original: From the unknown deep wherein those prayers were heard, From the dark height of time there sounds a word, Crying, Comfort; though death ride on this red hour, Hope waits with eyes that make the morning dim, Till liberty, reclothed with love and power, Shall pass and know not if she tread on him.
text_transcription: FROM THE UNKNOWN DEEP WHEREIN THOSE PRAYERS WERE HEARD FROM THE DARK HEIGHT OF TIME THERE SOUNDS A WORD CRYING COMFORT THOUGH DEATH RIDE ON THIS RED HOUR HOPE WAITS WITH EYES THAT MAKE THE MORNING DIM TILL LIBERTY RECLOTHED WITH LOVE AND POWER SHALL PASS AND KNOW NOT IF SHE TREAD ON HIM
phonemes: fɹʌmðɪ ʌnnˈoʊn dˈiːp wˈɛɹɪn ðoʊz pɹˈɛɹz wɜː hˈɜːd, fɹʌmðə dˈɑːɹk hˈaɪt ʌv tˈaɪm ðɛɹ sˈaʊndz ɐ wˈɜːd, kɹˈaɪɪŋ, kˈʌmfɚt; ðˌoʊ dˈɛθ ɹˈaɪd ˌɔn ðɪs ɹˈɛd ˈaʊɚ, hˈoʊp wˈeɪts wɪð ˈaɪz ðæt mˌeɪk ðə mˈɔːɹnɪŋ dˈɪm, tˈɪl lˈɪbɚɾi, ɹᵻklˈoʊðd wɪð lˈʌv ænd pˈaʊɚ, ʃˌæl pˈæs ænd nˈoʊ nˌɑːt ɪf ʃiː tɹˈɛd ˈɔn hˌɪm.