高中英语晨读美文.doc

精选高中英语晨读美文

The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read

Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.

Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, For the

world was intent on dragging me down.

And if that weren't enough to ruin my day, A young boy

out of breath approached me, all tired from play. He stood

right before me with his head tilted down And said with

great excitement, "Look what I found!"

In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,

With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little

light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to

play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.

But instead of retreating he sat next to my side and

placed the flower to his nose and declared with surprise,

"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too. That's why

I picked it; here, it's for you."

The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of

colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it,

or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and

replied, "Just what I need."

But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He

held it mid-air without reason or plan. It was then that I

noticed for the very first time, that weed-toting boy could

not see: he was blind. I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun. As I

thanked him for picking the very best one. "You're wele,"

he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact

he'd had on my day.

I sat there and wondered how he managed to see a self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree. How did he know

of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he'd

been blessed with true sight.

Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see,

the problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And

for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to

see beauty,Then I held that wilted flower up to my nose and

breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose And smiled as

that young boy, another weed in his hand About to change

the life of an unsuspecting old man.

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His

Father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time

he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of

the fence. The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into

the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to

control his anger,the number of nails hammered daily

gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to

hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his

temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day

that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and

the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all

the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand

and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my

son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will

never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave

a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and

draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm

sorry, the wound is still there."

He was 11 years old and went fishing every chance he

got from the dock at his family’s cabin on an island in

the middle of a New Hampshire lake.

On the day before the bass season opened, he and his

father were fishing early in the evening, catching sunfish

and perch with worms. Then he tied on a small silver lure

and practiced casting. The lure struck the water and caused

coloredripples in the sunset, then silver ripples as the

moon rose over the lake.

When his peapole doubled over, he knew something huge

was on the other end. His father watched with admiration as

the boy skillfully worked the fish alongside the dock.

Finally, he very gingerly lifted the exhausted fish

from the water. It was the largest one he had ever seen,

but it was a bass. The boy and his father looked at the handsome fish,

gills playing back and forth in the moonlight. The father

lit a match and looked at his watch. It was 10 P.M.-- two

hours before the season opened. He looked at the fish, then

at the boy.

“You’ll have to put it back, son,” he said. “Dad!”

cried the boy.

“There will be other fish,” said his father. “Not as

big as this one,” cried the boy.

He looked around the lake. No other fishermen or boats

were anywhere around in the moonlight. He looked again at

his father. Even though no one had seen them, nor could

anyone ever know what time he caught the fish, the boy

could tell by the clarity of his father’s voice that the