Shakespeare had the King in Hamlet on his knees, offering the words that explained his words were of little value. The King had sinned and knelt in prayer, to no avail, saying:

“My words fly up, My thoughts remain below: Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

“Oh, my crime is so rotten it stinks to heaven. It has the mark of Cain on it, a brother’s murder. I can’t pray, though I want to desperately. My guilt is stronger even than my intentions. And like a person with two opposite things to do at once, I stand paralyzed and neglect them both. So what if this cursed hand of mine is coated with my brother’s blood? Isn’t there enough rain in heaven to wash it clean as snow? Isn’t that what God’s mercy is for? And doesn’t prayer serve these two purposes—to keep us from sinning and bring us forgiveness when we sin? So I’ll pray. I’ve already committed my sin. But, oh, what kind of prayer is there for me? “Dear Lord, forgive me for my horrible murder”?