改革开放三十多年以来,英语教育在我国已经广为普及,整个社会对英语的要求也愈加精益求精。下面是小编带来的3分钟英语美文朗诵，欢迎阅读!

3分钟英语美文朗诵篇一

Christmas Morning

light drizzle was falling as my sister Jill and I ran out of the Methodist Church， eager to get home and play with the presents that Santa had left for us and our baby sister， Sharon. Across the street from the church was a Pan American gas station where the Greyhound bus stopped. It was closed for Christmas， but I noticed a family standing outside the locked door， huddled under the narrow overhang in an attempt to keep dry. I wondered briefly why they were there but then forgot about them as I raced to keep up with Jill.

Once we got home， there was barely time to enjoy our presents. We had to go off to our grandparents' house for our annual Christmas dinner. As we drove down the highway through town， I noticed that the family was still there， standing outside the closed gas station.

My father was driving very slowly down the highway. The closer we got to the turnoff for my grandparents' house， the slower the car went. Suddenly， my father U-turned in the middle of the road and said， “I can’t stand it!”

“What?” asked my mother.

“It's those people back there at the Pan Am， standing in the rain. They’ve got children. It's Christmas. I can’t stand it.”

When my father pulled into the service station， I saw that there were five of them： the parents and three children — two girls and a small boy.

My father rolled down his window. “Merry Christmas，” he said.

“Howdy，” the man replied. He was very tall and had to stoop slightly to peer into the car.

Jill， Sharon， and I stared at the children， and they stared back at us.

“You waiting on the bus?” my father asked.

The man said that they were. They were going to Birmingham， where he had a brother and prospects of a job.

“Well， that bus isn't going to come along for several hours， and you’re getting wet standing here. Winborn's just a couple miles up the road. They’ve got a shed with a cover there， and some benches，” my father said. “Why don't y'all get in the car and I’ll run you up there.”

The man thought about it for a moment， and then he beckoned to his family. They climbed into the car. They had no luggage， only the clothes they were wearing. Once they settled in， my father looked back over his shoulder and asked the children if Santa had found them yet. Three glum faces mutely gave him his answer.

“Well， I didn't think so，” my father said， winking at my mother， “because when I saw Santa this morning， he told me that he was having trouble finding y’all， and he asked me if he could leave your toys at my house. We'll just go get them before I take you to the bus stop.”

All at once， the three children's faces lit up， and they began to bounce around in the back seat， laughing and chattering.

When we got out of the car at our house， the three children ran through the front door and straight to the toys that were spread out under our Christmas tree. One of the girls spied Jill's doll and immediately hugged it to her breast. I remember that the little boy grabbed Sharon’s ball. And the other girl picked up something of mine. All this happened a long time ago， but the memory of it remains clear. That was the Christmas when my sisters and I learned the joy of making others happy.

My mother noticed that the middle child was wearing a short-sleeved dress， so she gave the girl Jill's only sweater to wear.

My father invited them to join us at our grandparents' for Christmas dinner， but the parents refused. Even when we all tried to talk them into coming， they were firm in their decision.

Back in the car， on the way to Winborn， my father asked the man if he had money for bus fare.

His brother had sent tickets， the man said.

My father reached into his pocket and pulled out two dollars， which was all he had left until his next payday. He pressed the money into the man's hand. The man tried to give it back， but my father insisted. “It’ll be late when you get to Birmingham， and these children will be hungry before then. Take it. I've been broke before， and I know what it’s like when you can't feed your family.”

We left them there at the bus stop in Winborn. As we drove away， I watched out the window as long as I could， looking back at the little girl hugging her new doll.

3分钟英语美文朗诵篇二

Going Home Again

They say you can never go home again.

Well， you can. Only you might find yourself staying at a Trave Lodge， driving a rented Ford Contour and staking out your childhood home like some noir private eye just trying to catch a glimpse of the Johnny-come-latelys that are now living in YOUR HOUSE.

It's a familiar story. Kids grow up， parents sell the family home and move to some sunnier climate， some condo somewhere， some smaller abode. We grown up kids box up all the junk from our childhoods—dusty ballet shoes， high school text books， rolled up posters of Adam Ant—and wonder where home went.

I'm not a sentimental person， I told myself. I don't need to see old 3922 26th Street before we sell the place. I even skipped the part where I return home to salvage my mementos from the garage. I let my parents box up the stuff which arrived from San Francisco like the little package you get when released from jail. You know， here's your watch， the outfit you wore in here， some cash. Here's the person you once were.

After a year， San Francisco called me home again. I missed it. High rents had driven all my friends out of the city to the suburbs so I made myself a reservation at a motel and drove there in a rented car.

The next day， I cruised over to my old neighborhood. There was the little corner store my mom used to send me to for milk， the familiar fire station， the Laundromat.

I cried like the sap I never thought I'd be. I sat in the car， staring at my old house， tears welling up. It had a fresh paint job， the gang graffiti erased from the garage door. New curtains hung in the window.

I walked up and touched the doorknob like it was the cheek of a lover just home from war. I noticed the darker paint where our old mezuzah used to be. I sat on our scratchy brick stoop， dangling my legs off the edge， feeling as rootless as I've ever felt.

You can't go home in a lot of ways， I discovered that night， when I met up with an ex-boyfriend.

"Great to see you，" he said， giving me a tense hug. "The thing is， I only have an hour."

What am I， the LensCrafters of social engagements?

As it happens， his new girlfriend wasn't too keen on my homecoming. We had a quick drink and he dropped me back off at my motel where I scrounged up my change to buy some Whoppers from the vending machine for dinner. I settled in for the evening to watch "Three to Tango" on HBO.

"You had to watch a movie with a Friends' cast member，" said my brother， nodding empathetically. "That's sad."

My brother and I met up at our old house， like homing pigeons. We walked down the street for some coffee and I filled him in on my trip. He convinced me to stay my last night at his new place in San Bruno， just outside the city. I'll gladly pay $98 a night just for the privilege of not inconveniencing anyone， but he actually seemed to want me.

"I love having guests，" he insisted. So I went.

It's surprising how late in life you still get that "I can't believe I'm a grown-up feeling，" like when your big brother， the guy who used to force you to watch "Gomer Pyle" reruns， owns his own place. It was small and sparse and he had just moved in but it was his. The refrigerator had nothing but mustard， a few cheese slices and fourteen cans of Diet 7-Up.

We picked up some Taco Bell， rented a movie， popped some popcorn and I fell asleep on his couch.

Insomniacs rarely fall asleep on people's couches， I assure you. I don't know why I slept so well after agonizing all weekend over the question of home， if I had one anymore， where it was. I only know that curled up under an old sleeping bag， the sound of some second-rate guy movie playing in the background， my brother in a chair next to me， I felt safe and comfortable and maybe that's part of what home is.

But it's not the whole story. As much as I'd like to buy the cliches about home being where the heart is， or as Robert Frost put it， "The place where when you have to go there， they have to take you in，" a part of me thinks the truth is somewhere between the loftiness of all those platitudes and the concreteness of that wooden door on 26th street.

I'll probably be casing that joint from time to time for the rest of my life. I'll sit outside， like a child watching someone take away a favorite toy， and silently scream， "MINE!"

3分钟英语美文朗诵篇三

Is Packing Important To You?

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom， and knowing his father could well afford it， he told him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached， the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally， on the morning of his graduation， his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son， and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautiful wrapped gift box. Curious， but somewhat disappointed， the young man opened the box and found a lovely， leather-bound Bible， with the young man's name embossed in gold. Angrily， he raised his voice to his father and said， "With all your money you give me a Bible?" He then stormed out of the house， leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and a wonderful family， but realizing his father was very old， he thought perhaps he should go to see him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make the arrangements， he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away， and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father's house， sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible， just as he had left it years ago. With tears， he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he was reading， a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name， the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation， and the words… "PAID IN FULL".

How many times do we miss blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? I trust you enjoyed this. Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for.

Sometimes we don't realize the good fortune we have or we could have because we expect "the packaging" to be different. What may appear as bad fortune may in fact be the door that is just waiting to be opened.