美文欣赏应该停留在课堂上，让他们能够伴随学生终身，成为一种良好的习惯。下面是小编带来的1000字英语美文，欢迎阅读!

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为母亲祈祷Dear God， Now that I am no longer young， I have friends whose mothers have passed away. I have heard these sons and daughters say they never fully appreciated their mothers until it was too late to tell them. I am blessed with the dear mother who is still alive. I appreciate her more each day. My mother does not change， but I do. As I grow older and wiser， I realize what an extraordinary person she is. How sad that I am unable to speak these words in her presence， but they flow easily from my pen. How does a daughter begin to thank her mother for life itself? For the love， patience and just plain hard work that go into raising a child? For running after a toddler， for understanding a moody teenager， for tolerating a college student who knows everything? For waiting for the day when a daughter realizes her mother really is? How does a grown woman thank for a mother for continuing to be a mother? For being ready with advice(when asked ) or remaining silent when it is most appreciated? For not saying：”I told you so”， when she could have uttered these words dozens of times? For being essentially herself—loving， thoughtful， patient， and forgiving? I don’t know how， dear God， except to bless her as richly as she deserves and to help me live up to the example she has set. I pray that I will look as good in the eyes of my children as my mother looks in mine. A daughter

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Late for SchoolAll my life， I've had this recurring dream that causes me to wake up feeling strange. In it， I am a little girl again， rushing about， trying to get ready for school. "Hurry， Gin， you'll be late for school，" my mother calls to me. I am hurrying， Mom! Where's my lunch? What did I do with my books?" Deep inside I know where the dream comes from and what it means. It is God's way of reminding me of some unfinished business in my life. I loved everything about school， even though the school I attended in Springfield， Ohio， in the 1920s was very strict. I loved books， teachers， even tests and homework. Most of all I longed to someday march down the aisle to the strains of "Pomp and Circumstance." To me， that song was even more beautiful than "Here Comes the Bride." But there were problems. The Great Depression hit the hardest at large， poor families like ours. With seven children， Mom and Dad had no money for things like fine school clothes. Every morning， I cut out strips of cardboard to stuff inside my shoes to cover the holes in the soles. There was no money for musical instruments or sports uniforms or after-school treats. We sang to ourselves， played jacks or duck-on-the-rock， and munched on onions as we did homework. These hardships I accepted. As long as I could go to school， I didn't mind too much how I looked or what I lacked. What happened next was harder to accept. My brother Paul died of an infection after he accidentally stabbed himself in the eye with a fork. Then my father contracted tuberculosis and died. My sister， Margaret， caught the same disease， and soon she was gone， too. The shock of these losses gave me an ulcer， and I fell behind in my schoolwork. Meanwhile， my widowed mother tried to keep going on the five dollars a week she made cleaning houses. Her face became a mask of despair. One day I said to her， "Mom， I'm going to quit school and get a job to help out." The look in her eyes was a mixture of grief and relief. At fifteen， I dropped out of my beloved school and went to work in a bakery. My hope of walking down the aisle to "Pomp and Circumstance" was dead， or so I thought. In 1940， I married Ed， a machinist， and we began our family. Then Ed decided to become a preacher， so we moved to Cincinnati where he could attend the Cincinnati Bible Seminary. With the coming of children went the dream of schooling， forever. Even so， I was determined that my children would have the education I had missed. I made sure the house was filled with books and magazines. I helped them with their homework and urged them to study hard. It paid off. All our six children eventually got some college training， and one of them is a college professor. But Linda， our last child， had health problems. Juvenile arthritis in her hands and knees made it impossible for her to function in the typical classroom. Furthermore， the medications gave her cramps， stomach trouble and migraine headaches. Teachers and principals were not always sympathetic. I lived in dread of the phone calls from school. "Mom， I'm coming home." Now Linda was nineteen， and still she did not have her high school diploma. She was repeating my own experience. I prayed about this problem， and when we moved to Sturgis， Michigan， in 1979， I began to see an answer. I drove to the local high school to check it out. On the bulletin board， I spotted an announcement about evening courses. That's the answer， I said to myself. Linda always feels better in the evening， so I'll just sign her up for night school. Linda was busy filling out enrollment forms when the registrar looked at me with brown， persuasive eyes and said， "Mrs. Schantz， why don't you come back to school?" I laughed in his face. "Me? Ha! I'm an old woman. I'm fifty-five!" But he persisted， and before I knew what I had done， I was enrolled for classes in English and crafts. "This is only an experiment，" I warned him， but he just smiled. To my surprise， both Linda and I thrived in evening school. I went back again the next semester， and my grades steadily improved. It was exciting， going to school again， but it was no game. Sitting in a class full of kids was awkward， but most of them were respectful and encouraging. During the day， I still had loads of housework to do and grandchildren to care for. Sometimes， I stayed up until two in the morning， adding columns of numbers for bookkeeping class. When the numbers didn't seem to work out， my eyes would cloud with tears and I would berate myself. Why am I so dumb? But when I was down， Linda encouraged me. "Mom， you can't quit now!" And when she was down， I encouraged her. Together we would see this through. At last， graduation was near， and the registrar called me into his office. I entered， trembling， afraid I had done something wrong. He smiled and motioned for me to have a seat. "Mrs. Schantz，" he began， You have done very well in school." I blushed with relief. "As a matter of fact，" he went on， "your classmates have voted unanimously for you to be class orator." I was speechless. He smiled again and handed me a piece of paper. "And here is a little reward for all your hard work." I looked at the paper. It was a college scholarship for $3，000. "Thank you" was all I could think to say， and I said it over and over. The night of graduation， I was terrified. Two hundred people were sitting out there， and public speaking was a brand-new experience for me. My mouth wrinkled as if I had been eating persimmons. My heart skipped beats， and I wanted to flee， but I couldn't! After all， my own children were sitting in that audience. I couldn't be a coward in front of them. Then， when I heard the first strains of "Pomp and Circumstance，" my fears dissolved in a flood of delight. I am graduating! And so is Linda! Somehow I got through the speech. I was startled by the applause， the first I ever remember receiving in my life. Afterwards， roses arrived from my brothers and sisters throughout the Midwest. My husband gave me silk roses， "so they will not fade." The local media showed up with cameras and recorders and lots of questions. There were tears and hugs and congratulations. I was proud of Linda， and a little afraid that I might have unintentionally stolen some of the attention that she deserved for her victory， but she seemed as proud as anyone of our dual success. The class of '81 is history now， and I've gone on for some college education. But sometimes， I sit down and put on the tape of my graduation speech. I hear myself say to the audience， "Don't ever underestimate your dreams in life. Anything can happen if you believe. Not a childish， magical belief. It means hard work， but never doubt that you can do it， with God's help." And then， I remember the recurring dream-Hurry， Gin， you'll be late for school-and my eyes cloud over when I think of my mother. Yes， Mom， I was late for school， but it was all the sweeter for waiting. I only wish you and Dad could have been there to see your daughter and granddaughter in all their pomp and circumstance.

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勇气CourageCourage by J.F.Kennidy

The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy. A man does what he must----in spite of personal consequences， in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures----and that is the basis of all human morality. To be courageous…requires no exceptional qualifications， no magic formula， no special combination of time， place and circumstance. It is an opportunity that sooner or later is presented to us all. Politics merely furnishes one arena which imposes special tests of courage. In whatever arena of life one may meet the challenge of courage， whatever may be the sacrifices he faces if he follows his conscience----the loss of his friends， his fortune， his contentment， even the esteem of his fellow men----each man must decide for himself the course he will follow. The stories of past courage can define that ingredient----they can teach， they can offer hope， they can provide inspiration. But they cannot supply courage itself. For this each man must look into his own soul.

生活之中的勇气，通常不会像千钧一发时的勇气那样充满戏剧性;但他人不失为是一个胜利与悲剧的壮观组合。一个人将个人得失，障碍、危险还有压力抛在脑后，只是做他必须做的，而这便是人类一切道德的基础。 勇敢，不需要突出的品质，不需要秘诀，不需要天时地利，每个人或早或晚都有机会。政治不过是对勇气进行特别考验的一个竞技场而已，在人生的每一个竞技场上勇气都会前来挑战。如果你跟随你的良心，那么任何东西都可能被牺牲：朋友，财产，满足，甚至是别人对你的尊重。走哪条路只能由自己来决定。前人的故事可以告诉你什么叫勇敢。他们能够教你，能够给你希望和灵感，但不能给你真正的勇气，要得到它你必须要发掘自己的灵魂。