This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
In yon garden fine and gay,
Picking lilies a' the day,
Gathering flowers o' ilka hue,
I wistna then what love could do.
Where love is planted there it grows,
It buds and blows like any rose;
It has a sweet and pleasant smell;
No flower on earth can it excel.
I put my hand into the bush,
And thought the sweetest rose to find;
But pricked my finger to the bone,
And left the sweetest rose behind.