text_original: I've cherished it long as a sainted prize; I've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell?  a mother sat there: And a sacred thing is that old arm chair.
text_transcription: I'VE CHERISHED IT LONG AS A SAINTED PRIZE I'VE BEDEWED IT WITH TEARS AND EMBALMED IT WITH SIGHS THIS BOUND BY A THOUSAND BANDS TO MY HEART NOT A TIE WILL BREAK NOT A LINK WILL START WOULD YOU LEARN THE SPELL A MOTHER SAT THERE AND THE SACRED THING IS THAT OLD ARM CHAIR
phonemes: aɪv tʃˈɛɹɪʃt ɪt lˈɔŋ æz ɐ sˈeɪntᵻd pɹˈaɪz; aɪv bᵻdˈuːd ɪt wɪð tˈɪɹz ænd ɛmbˈɑːmd ɪt wɪð sˈaɪz tˈɪz bˈaʊnd baɪ ɐ θˈaʊzənd bˈændz tə maɪ hˈɑːɹt; nˌɑːɾə tˈaɪ wɪl bɹˈeɪk, nˌɑːɾə lˈɪŋk wɪl stˈɑːɹt. wʊd jiː lˈɜːn ðə spˈɛl?  ɐ mˈʌðɚ sˈæt ðˈɛɹ: ænd ɐ sˈeɪkɹɪd θˈɪŋ ɪz ðæt ˈoʊld ˈɑːɹm tʃˈɛɹ.